The Arithmancer
by White Squirrel
Summary: Hermione grows up as a maths whiz instead of a bookworm and tests into Arithmancy in her first year. Then, she befriends Harry Potter and finds an opportunity to put her superhuman spellcrafting skills to good use.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and no one owns mathematics.

A/N: All maths in this story is real and correct to the best of my knowledge. Hermione's seemingly superhuman maths skills are based on real people. All arithmancy in this story besides the tiny amount mentioned in the books is stuff I made up.

I've seen a number of stories where some character, usually Harry, mysteriously has superhumanly good skills with Ancient Runes and warding, but I've yet to see anything comparable for Arithmancy and spellcrafting, even though this idea is as rich, if not more so with possibilities. So I decided to try it myself, changing Hermione from a bookworm to a maths whiz and giving her skills equal to some of the most gifted real child prodigies in the world, so that she can explore the true potential of Arithmancy. Yes, there _will_ be maths, but my intent is that you won't need to understand the maths to enjoy the story. The important part is all the advanced spellcrafting Hermione will eventually be doing, and trust me, it will be _epic_.

I will taking requests for this story: if you have an idea for a new spell that you would like to see used, PM me or write it in a review. I will do my best to include all requests so long as they don't break the story or go over the T rating.

Fair warning: this story will eventually feature Ron/Hermione and Harry/Ginny. Personally, I'd prefer not to spoil the pairings at the beginning, but that seems to be the etiquette here. I do have my reasons for them, which will become apparent as the story develops.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Hermione Granger had always been a very bright child. No, she wasn't go-to-university-at-age-ten material like those kids she saw on the news every so often, but she _had_ skipped a year in primary with no trouble. Since she had a September birthday anyway, it hadn't been that big an adjustment.

Ah, but maths, though, that was where she excelled. Oh, she loved books and loved learning, else she could never have skipped a year, but numbers were her first love. She lived and breathed them, and manipulated them with the ease of a practised virtuoso.

Multiplying large numbers in her head was trivial. Anyone could learn that if only they would bother to take the time. No, being able to do anything that a four-function calculator could do, and often as fast, only made her a curiosity, not a prodigy. But with the passing years, as her tutors pulled her aside each day during maths lessons to teach her long division, then probability, then algebra, then trigonometry, she knew she was on a different plane entirely from her year-mates. For all the trouble it caused for her, a part of her enjoyed the stares she got when people saw her happily working problems in GCSE and A-level maths while all the other children were learning their fractions.

Actually, this past year hadn't been so bad. The kids at her secondary school were at least a little more dedicated to their work than in primary, where she had never really fit in and spent more time reading and doing sums than playing tag or, heaven forbid, dodge-ball. This past year, she'd even found a couple of girls who shared her love of epic fantasy and science fiction, although she had to go all the way up to the sixth-formers to find anyone who could keep up with her in maths. Still, after those rough years in primary, things were really looking up.

Then a woman who was dressed like she had stepped out of the 1930s showed up at the Grangers' door. Their hotel room door.

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger?"

"Yes…" Daniel Granger answered warily.

"How do you do. My name is Minerva McGonagall." She offered her hand to shake. "Is your daughter here with you?"

Dan only lightly shook her hand. "Yes, she is. Is there a problem?"

"Not at all, Mr. Granger. You see, I represent an exclusive school for gifted children, and we would like to extend an invitation to Miss Hermione Granger to attend."

"Really?" Minerva caught a glimpse of a head of bushy brown hair as the girl in question leapt from her seat and ran to the door, only to be blocked by her parents.

"Now hold on there, Hermione," her father said, then to their visitor, "So you tracked us down on holiday just to tell us?"

Minerva had been wondering about that herself. She was still a bit queasy from the international portkey she'd had to take to get to Italy, when she could surely have waited a week and caught them in Britain. Still, procedure was procedure. This was the hardest part, though: convincing them to let her come in and that she wasn't a—what had that Dame Finch-Fletchley called her? "A wandering lunatic," she believed it was.

"My apologies for interrupting your holiday," she continued, "but it is our standard practice to contact all of our scholarship recipients in the final week of July, regardless of where they are staying at the time. Here is my card." She handed over a muggle business card that said "Hogwarts School. Minerva McGonagall: Deputy Headmistress" and showed a muggle post address while in public. "If it is inconvenient, I can come back another time."

"No, no," Dan said quickly. The card at least looked somewhat verifiable. If it was true, they might as well go ahead, and if there was any funny business, it was best to get it out of the way quickly. "Please do come in." He turned around and subtly motioned for Emma and Hermione to stay back from the strange woman and offered her a seat. He sat in between them and McGonagall—and by the room phone—just in case.

"Ms. McGonagall, my name is Daniel Granger, and this is my wife, Emma, and our daughter, Hermione," he said. "I'm sure you can appreciate how unusual this seems to us, but I suppose we might as well hear you out."

Emma examined the business card. "I don't think I've ever heard of Hogwarts School," she said.

"I suspect not," Minerva answered. "It is quite obscure, for reasons that will soon be obvious. The full name of the school is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Now, Hermione spoke up: "Witchcraft and wizardry? Do you mean like magic—real magic?"

"Of course, Miss Granger. I am a witch and can perform magic, and you are as well."

Hermione's eye grew wide at the revelation, but her father's narrowed. "Ms. McGonagall, I think you've said enough."

"Please, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I know this sounds difficult to believe, but if you'll permit me to give you a demonstration…"

The strange woman pulled a small stick from the sleeve of her dress. Dan knew enough about supposed psychics and paranormal practitioners to know the usual tricks, but he was nothing if not curious. Hermione hadn't got it all from her mother, after all. In the unlikely event that this McGonagall woman could do anything besides turn her wand into a bouquet of flowers, it would be worth it, and otherwise, picking apart the trick might make things go a little easier. He nodded his assent. McGonagall waved her stick and muttered something in what sounded like Dog Latin, and the coffee table in front of them rose into the air.

"Holy…!" Dan fell right out of his chair, while Emma paled, and Hermione gasped in surprise.

The table spun around twice and then settled back down.

"Wow…" was Hermione's reaction.

"So…witchcraft and wizardry, you said?" Emma stammered.

"That's right," McGonagall answered. "I am Deputy Headmistress of the school as well as Professor of Transfiguration."

"Transfiguration?" Hermione asked.

"Spells to change one thing into another. For example…" She touched her wand to the coffee table and muttered another incantation. The table turned into a large tortoise. Dan very nearly fell off his chair again. Hermione actually applauded.

Once McGonagall restored the coffee table, Emma said, "So you're saying Hermione can do those things, too?"

"With appropriate training, of course. That was a very advanced spell."

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something, but her mother interrupted her. "But how could you possibly know that she's a…a witch?" The word sounded insulting, but it seemed to be the one to use.

"We have very ancient spells in operation at Hogwarts that automatically detect all magical births within the shores of Britain, Mrs. Granger. Hogwarts accepts all magical children upon reaching the age of eleven, regardless of parentage. Surely you have noticed before…unusual things happening around your daughter—what we call 'accidental magic'."

Dan and Emma looked at each other, and they both instantly knew the answer. It certainly explained a few things, including one particularly nasty temper tantrum in which a whole room full of books came flying off their shelves. They simply nodded, but Dan started up again: "Well if that's the case, why wait eleven years? Why not contact us earlier."

That was another issue that always seemed to come up. McGonagall tried to explain it gently and hoped the conversation wouldn't dissolve into a political argument. "I admit there are drawbacks to our system, and yes, a part of it is simply tradition. However, children rarely have much ability to control their magic before age eleven, which is why Hogwarts starts at that age. For children with no magical relatives, then, there is very little reason for them to have contact with the magical world. As you can probably guess, the magical world values its secrecy, so we choose not to make contact until later."

This seemed to placate the Grangers. As she watched her parents digest this information, Hermione finally got a chance to ask the question that most impressed upon her: "Please, ma'am, may I try a spell?"

McGonagall chuckled at the girl. That particular question was surprisingly rare. "I'm afraid not, Miss Granger," she said. "You will need your own wand, one that is better matched to your personal magic, in order to cast spells properly, especially at your age. However, I _can_ now give you your official Hogwarts acceptance letter." She pulled an envelope out of her handbag and levitated it over to the girl.

Hermione was almost entranced by the old-fashioned envelope. It was made of parchment, she noted, and addressed with flowing script in emerald-green ink. She took it in hand gingerly and read the front aloud:

_Miss H. Granger_

_The Smaller Bedroom_

_Suite 405_

_Hotel San Zulian_

_Venice, Italy_

Dan shot to his feet. "How did you know what room our daughter was sleeping in?"

Minerva sighed. This was happening more and more every year. Perhaps it was time to change the addressing spells. "I did _not_ know, Mr. Granger. The letters are addressed automatically."

"So you can just automatically find anyone, wherever they are?"

"There are ways of concealing one's movements when they are called for, but that's hardly the concern of a student. In any case, tracking charms like that are strictly regulated."

Grumbling, but mollified for the moment, Dan sat back down. Hermione broke the ornate wax seal and slid the letter out of the envelope. She again read it aloud:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Granger, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on 1 September. There will be an orientation for incoming students of non-magical parents held at 9:00 AM on 27 July at Platform 10, King's Cross Station, London, at which time you will be able to submit your enrolment forms._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

"Your orientation is in a train station?" Emma asked.

"That is the beginning of the orientation, Mrs. Granger. The itinerary will include a tour of important magical sites in London, as well as time to purchase school supplies." McGonagall dug into her handbag again, raising eyebrows when her hand dove in deeper than the size of the bag, and pulled out a large brochure. "I also have some basic literature on Hogwarts for you: classes offered, extracurricular activities, profiles of the professors, and so forth."

"That's very helpful, thank you."

"Do witches _actually_ wear pointed hats?" Hermione exclaimed as she read the lists of school supplies.

"I admit they are falling out of favour, but they are still part of the uniform, yes."

"Um, we may have a problem," Dan said as he reread Hermione's acceptance letter for himself. "We were planning on flying home on the 27th. Is it possible to do the orientation later?"

McGonagall blinked and adjusted her spectacles. It had been a while since something like this had happened. She considered her schedule and said, "If you like, I can meet with you personally on the following weekend. Or, if you prefer, I can arrange to have your flight changed to a day earlier at no cost to yourselves."

"You can ar…arrange…? Is that legal?"

With a barely-discernible _hmph_, the witch answered, "I suppose it might be considered bending the rules a bit by muggle—that is non-magical standards, but I assure you the travel arrangements will all be quite legal."

Emma wore an almost-defeated look, now, with any objections they might have had not only dispelled, but rendered irrelevant. "Well, I suppose we won't have any trouble going back a day early. And I doubt we'll be able to keep Hermione from trying to get a hold of these magical textbooks for another week."

When she saw Mr. Granger's smirk at that remark, McGonagall couldn't help but think, _Ravenclaw for sure, this one_.

Her thoughts were interrupted when their daughter spoke up again: "Excuse me, ma'am, but none of these look like books for non-magical classes at all."

"She's right," Emma said, thumbing through the brochure again. "There's no English classes, no—what did you call it? Muggle history? And not any kind of sciences or maths that I've heard of, unless it's this Muggle Studies thing."

"You've just _got_ to have maths classes," Hermione insisted.

"How is Hermione supposed to get a well-rounded education with classes so heavily biased toward magic?" Emma continued, wondering to herself how she had got to the point of stringing those words together.

McGonagall held up a hand to stem the tide of questions. This _was _a common, question, though not one to which she had an ideal answer. "Now, then, it's not quite as bad as it may look just from the course listings. Most of our classes have an essay component that is graded on language as well as content, so English is certainly not neglected. For maths, we offer an elective Arithmancy class beginning in third year that covers much of the same maths as muggle secondary school. I will admit that our curriculum is light on muggle sciences and history. We must cater to the needs of our students, and nearly all of our students, including muggle-borns—those from non-magical families—choose to live in our world. Our curriculum is designed to help our students succeed there." She held up her hand again for the obvious next question. "You can of course, hire tutors to cover the remaining subjects. And magical education is only compulsory up through the fifth year. Very rarely, we do have students leave after their fifth year to take an early apprenticeship or prepare for a muggle university. If you like, I can put you in contact with some former students who have done so."

Both Granger parents leaned back, digesting this information, but Hermione was now looking over the brochure and frowning.

"Well, I suppose all that does make a kind of sense," Emma said. "At least she would keep her options open. What do you think, Dan."

Dan stared at the ceiling. "I think I'm having the strangest dream of my life, and I'd like to wake up, now, please," he mumbled. "But on the off chance this is real, I can't see why it would hurt to go home early and go to the orientation. Hermione, what's wrong?" he added when he saw his daughter's face.

"You don't have _any_ maths the first two years?" she said. "Do you think I could I test into the Arithmancy class, Professor?"

"Wha…? Test into…? Well that would be _highly_ irregular. And I'm afraid few students could do well in that class at your age, even clearly gifted ones like yourself."

"Oh, you haven't seen our Hermione around numbers, yet, Professor McGonagall," Emma defended her daughter.

"I could show you what I've been working on," the girl said. Before McGonagall could protest, she had disappeared in a flurry of brown hair and soon returned with a large book that she opened to a spot a little ways in and presented to her. "This is what Mr. Andrews has been teaching me this summer. I haven't got that far yet, though. I've only got up through differentiation of rational functions."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed in confusion, then slowly grew to saucer-sized as she began to thumb through the book. It was a muggle textbook, yes, but this was the kind of maths used in NEWT-level Arithmancy, and in much more detail. McGonagall had _forgotten_ most of it, and she wondered if even Professor Vector knew all of it. "My goodness, you can really do this kind of work?"

"Of course." Hermione started to explain how to do one of the problems, but McGonagall cut her off.

"That's quite alright, Miss Granger, I believe you. Irregular it may be, but with maths skills like these, you could _teach_ the non-magical part of the class. I'll ask Professor Vector if she is willing to interview you for a possible Arithmancy placement before you come to Hogwarts."

Hermione giggled at the name Vector. "Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall answered a few more of the family's questions about the school and gave them a brief overview of the magical world. She was sure they would need time to fully understand everything that had happened, just like all the muggle-born families, but she confirmed that they would be at the orientation and promised to contact them through the hotel with their new travel arrangements.

After she left the hotel room, she waited until she was out of earshot before allowing herself a heavy sigh and wondering why it was always the most studious children who caused her the most trouble on these visits.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall returned to Hogwarts after a long two days of visiting muggle-born families. As always, she was glad to be out of that muggle dress and back in proper witch's robes. But it was too late that night to bother reporting in, so she didn't head up to the Headmaster's office until after breakfast the next morning.

As usual, she didn't have to knock on Albus's door before he called out a hearty "Ah, do come in, Minerva." She entered the office and sat down among the many twittering contraptions (she had long suspected that most of them were completely useless, but Albus simply ignored any such comments about them).

"Lemon drop?" the Headmaster asked before popping one in his mouth himself.

"No, thank you."

"So, the visits with the muggle-born students took longer than usual I see."

"Yes, Albus. One of them turned out to be on holiday in Italy. I had to register an international portkey and rearrange a muggle aeroplane schedule to deal with her. Muggles travel so much these days, I'm beginning to think we should change our orientation procedures."

"Hmm, perhaps a consideration for next year. No other troubles, then?"

"No more than usual, although I'll need to talk to Septima about that one."

Albus's bushy eyebrows rose at that. "Septima? For a first-year student? Why would her involvement be needed?"

Minerva allowed herself a small smile. "Because if Miss Granger is as good as I think she is, Septima will want her for an apprentice before she's through with her."

Albus stroked his beard. "How intriguing," he mused. "Good arithmancers are hard to find."

"Indeed. No problems here, then, Albus?"

"Only a spot of difficulty in contacting Harry Potter." At that moment, one of the devices on the walls chimed six times. Albus rose to inspect it. "Oh dear, it appears that all six letters I sent to Mr. Potter this morning just triggered as lost."

"Six!"

"Yes, this is the third day in a row. I'll have to arrange another post to him for tomorrow."

"Albus, if six letters couldn't get through to the boy today, I can't see how sending more will help. If I had to guess, I'd wager those awful relatives of his are keeping them from him."

"Now, now, Minerva, I left specific instructions with them…"

"Specific instructions my foot, Albus," Minerva cut him off. "I told you how awful those muggles were ten years ago. Perhaps I should visit the boy in person."

"No, Minerva, you're doing quite enough this week with the muggle-borns…If Mr. Potter doesn't read his letter before his birthday, I'll send Hagrid to deliver it," Albus said with that characteristic twinkle in his eye. (Minerva had long ago decided that must be some kind of spell, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was.) "I'm sure he'll be happy to see the boy again."

Minerva thought about those prim and proper muggles' likely reaction to the half-giant barging in on them and smiled in spite of herself. "Well, I suppose Hagrid _is_ up to the task," she said.

* * *

The last month of summer was a whirlwind for Hermione. First, there was the orientation at King's Cross, where she met Sally-Anne Perks, Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Terry Boot, and Kevin Entwhistle. Then, there was the wonder of Diagon Alley, buying her robes, her supplies, her wand (at her insistence, Mr. Ollivander had let her try a few simple spells in his shop), and of course, her books.

All of them were fascinating, of course. She was surprised that several of the textbooks covered multiple years. She bought the Arithmancy textbooks up through seventh year, and even in the first one, she was amazed at how something as smooth and organic as magic could be broken down mathematically. She devoured the history books, too, trying to learn as much as she could about her new world. Her respect for Albus Dumbledore shot up several notches when she learnt that he single-handedly defeated Hitler's dark wizard ally in World War II, but she was a little unnerved when _Modern Magical History_ described a terrorist who sounded like a comic book supervillain who was defeated by a boy named Harry Potter only a decade ago. There had been a civil war in Magical Britain back then—against the muggle-borns. She sure was glad she didn't have to deal with that now.

In the meantime, Professor Vector had been nice enough to arrange a visit to her house to meet her a week after the orientation. At the appointed time, Emma Granger opened the front door to find a middle-aged woman with long black hair who was dressed in a flowing burgundy robe and a matching pointed hat. Emma looked the woman up and down once before saying, "You _must _be Professor Vector…uh, if you don't mind my asking, do all witches _really_ dress like that?"

Vector turned up her nose slightly when she answered, "I can't speak for the fashion sense of the younger generation, Mrs. Granger, but this _is_ considered respectable day wear in our world.

Feeling vaguely like she had been insulted, Emma invited the woman in and started some tea.

"Mr. Granger?" Vector shook Dan's hand.

"How do you do?"

"And you must be Hermione."

"Pleased to meet you, Professor Vector. Thank you for coming."

They retired to the living room, where the family sat down, and Vector cautiously took a chair, eyeing the electric lights and the switched-off television curiously. Unlike far too many of her fellow Slytherins, she had no quarrel with muggles, and she recognised how often muggle-borns outperformed their peers academically (there _was_ something to be said for muggle primary school), but she didn't think she would ever get over the culture shock each time she entered their world.

"Thank you for the tea," Vector told Emma as the latter took her seat. "Now, Miss Granger, I, of course, am Septima Vector, Professor of Arithmancy at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall informed me that you are interested in testing into my third year Arithmancy class as a first year."

Hermione looked nervous as Vector gave her a stern look, but she tried to answer calmly. "Yes, ma'am. It sounds terribly interesting—and useful because it deals with spellcrafting, according to _Numerology and Grammatica_. And I really wouldn't want to go two years without a maths course. I want to keep my memory for it fresh."

Well, she was certainly dedicated, especially to have started _Numerology and Grammatica_ already. "You should know that I have never before considered early placement for my classes. Arithmancy is a very rigorous subject—in my opinion, the most rigorous taught at Hogwarts, and I expect a full effort from all of my students." Hermione started frowning. "However, Professor McGonagall informed me that your mathematical prowess is the finest she has ever seen at your age, and she _insisted_ that I take a look. So if you could show me what kind of maths you have been taught, it would give me an idea of your possible placement."

"Of course, ma'am. I've got my calculus book right over here." Hermione jumped up and grabbed the thick textbook from one of the stacks on the side table. She didn't see Professor Vector twitch in surprise at the word "calculus".

She opened the book to the right section and said, "My lesson this week is differentiation of compound functions. In principle, it's a very simple application of the Chain Rule. You just treat the inner function as a variable when taking the derivative of the outer function, then multiply it by the derivative of the inner function. Of course, with more complex functions, it can be very complicated—"

"Miss Granger," Vector cut off the enthusiastic child, "may I see that book?"

"Of course, ma'am." She handed it over. Vector looked over the open pages. The description of the Chain Rule was correct, of course, and as she flipped to the previous pages, she was amazed to see the elements of calculus explained in such detail. The NEWT-level Arithmancy book was smaller than this one, and the maths parts only took up half of it. The child certainly acted like she understood it, which would be astounding if true. Vector needed to see this for herself.

"Miss Granger, if I gave you an equation based on this material, would you be able to solve it for me?"

"Yes ma'am," she nodded emphatically.

"Very well, do you have any parchment?"

Emma rolled her eyes. The fact that the magical world seemed to be stuck in the nineteenth century had not escaped her. "No, but we have a pen and paper right here."

"Of course." Vector took the unfamiliar muggle writing implements. Holding a pen should have been the same as holding a quill, but it still felt a little awkward. She began writing a formula for the Granger girl to differentiate. Just to be sure, she made it a fiendishly complicated formula, one that seventh-years would struggle with, which required her to apply the Chain Rule twice, and on a rational function at that. A good student would try and probably get a mostly-correct answer. A fake would be forced to give up at once. "Mm-hmm. Very good," she said, handing the paper over. "Perhaps this one, then."

Hermione paled when she saw the complex formula, but she set her face with a determined expression and got to work, leaning over the coffee table as she began figuring. Even watching it upside-down, Vector could see that the girl was serious. She was definitely doing real algebra and what looked like real calculus. It took ten minutes of figuring, including checking her work twice and handing it back with a nervous look, but she finished it.

Vector looked over the paper. In neatly-written letters, Hermione had shown her work in great detail. The professor worked through each step herself, growing more and more excited as she found no mistakes. As she reached the end, she had to conclude that the answer was correct, and when she did, she felt faint. "Miss Granger," she said, "do you realise that the majority of my seventh-year students could not solve this equation correctly as quickly as you have just done?"

Hermione smiled nervously, unsure what to say. But her father jumped in and said, "That's our Hermione. She's been doing secondary-level maths for years, now."

"I should certainly say so," Vector said, any hint of superiority in her voice gone. "That is without a doubt the most extraordinary display of mathematical prowess I have ever seen from a first-year student." Hermione's smile grew broader. "Of course, arithmancy is more than just calculus. For example, have you learnt multiplication of matrices, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, ma'am. That was in my Algebra II class."

Vector didn't particularly know was "Algebra II" meant, but she took another sheet of paper and wrote down two grids of nine numbers side by side. "I see. So perhaps you could multiply these matrices together, then?"

"Yes ma'am." Hermione took the paper and started figuring.

Vector hadn't thought she could be more impressed with this child after the calculus display, but she was wrong. She knew full well that the problem she had given her required forty-five arithmetic operations, and as she watched, Hermione worked it out, entirely in her head, in forty-five seconds. It actually took Vector longer to check the answer than it had taken her to compute it.

"Correct again, Miss Granger, and one of the fastest I've ever seen. I assume you have also learnt geometry and trigonometry?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Excellent." Vector drew up a complex geometric figure for which some of the distances and angles had to be solved. It required the use of both trigonometry and the geometry of circles, but Hermione made short work of it, giving the exact answers in terms of square roots.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think your mathematical skills are above reproach." Vector was conversational now, but she still made it clear that she was not about to compromise on quality. "However, if you place in my class, you will need to be adequately versed in the theory of magic as well. So, can you tell me why the wand motion is important when casting a charm?"

It was an easy question from _Magical Theory_, which Hermione had, of course, already read, and she repeated the book's explanation almost word-for-word: "The movement of the wand aligns the ambient magical energies with those embodied by the charm's intended effects. The alignment of energies makes the charms much easier to cast, especially for beginning magic users."

"Mm-hmm, very good…Something a little more difficult then. What are the principle magical properties of the number seven?" That was straight out of chapter one of _Numerology and Grammatica_.

"Well, seven is the most magically powerful number. More spells include an arithmantic factor of seven than any other number, and in magical fields that include instances of sevenfold symmetry, the resonant energies often cause the magical effects to be more powerful and more stable. Numerologically, arranging objects in groups of seven can—"

"That's enough, Miss Granger, thank you. It's clear that you have read the course books very thoroughly. The important thing is that you can apply what you have learnt. For example, what is the geometric structure that describes the magical fields of the _Lumos_ Charm?" That was one of the homework questions for chapter three.

"A sphere, ma'am."

"And why is that?"

"The _Lumos_ Charm produces light by confining the uncontrolled magical energies that produce sparks around the tip of the wand. The most efficient shape of the confining field is a sphere."

Now _that_ was the kind of magical intuition Vector was looking for. And she surprised herself that she really was hoping to find it. She asked a few more questions along these line and then decided to see just how far the girl had got in her studies. "Alright, one last question," she said. "What is the _arithmantic _difference between a jinx and a hex?"

Hermione paled, and she looked down at her feet. "I…I don't know, ma'am. I thought that jinxes were spells that were just irritating, and hexes were spells that were actually harmful…"

"That's quite alright, Miss Granger, this is actually a fifth-year topic. The answer is that while the definitions you will learn in Defence Class are roughly correct, jinxes are described using algebraic equations, while hexes, which are more powerful spells, are described using transcendental equations."

Hermione's analytical mind started spinning at the implications of this, but she filed them away for future reference as the professor smiled and continued speaking.

"I must say, Miss Granger, in my twenty years of teaching, I have never seen a child with a greater aptitude for arithmancy at your age. I will inform Professor McGonagall to add third-year Arithmancy to your schedule when you arrive at Hogwarts."

"Yes!" Hermione leapt to her feet and nearly tripped when she narrowly prevented herself from hugging the professor. She managed to restrain herself to shaking the witch's hand vigorously. "Thank you! Thank you, so much, Professor Vector. I won't let you down."

"No, Miss Granger, I'm sure you won't." Vector looked back to the girl's parents. Her father was beaming with pride, and her mother looked more than a little smug. She probably deserved that, she admitted. She gave the family a brief outline of the full five-year curriculum and answered a few more questions about Hogwarts and the wizarding world in general that they hadn't thought to ask Professor McGonagall. She noted that Emma was quick to ask about career prospects ("quite diverse for a skilled arithmancer" she told them).

As a bit of a courtesy and a suddenly renewed curiosity, Vector asked a few questions about the muggle world, and in particular, what they used their advanced maths for. While she only understood about half of their answers, that half was impressive. The applications to muggle sciences were amazing, like that mission of sending people to the Moon that Professor Sinistra always raved about. Equally impressive was Hermione's knowledge of these endeavours, even if they weren't up to her level in pure maths.

When she finally took her leave, Vector shook her head and thought, _That girl's going to have my job by the time she graduates._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Only JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.

Parts of this chapter have been quoted from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

A/N: I have taken some liberties with the layout of the castle to try to mesh the books with the more elaborate and varying layout of the movies, and to facilitate some cool things that will happen later on.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

With her last reservations about Hogwarts dispelled, Hermione eagerly awaited the 1st of September. Her parents weren't as enthusiastic about sending her off to boarding school as she was about going (not to mention they were still trying to wrap their heads around the whole magic thing), but she could tell they were genuinely happy for her. They assured her that her calculus book would be enough to get her through Christmas when she asked for differential equations, though, and they made her promise to try to make some friends. Before she knew it, she was saying goodbye to them and boarding the Hogwarts Express.

"Have fun at school," her mother told after her. "Be sure to write us." Her father lifted her heavy trunk onto the train.

"Yes, Mum," she said as she climbed on board. "I love you."

She waved to her parents and then walked down the train a ways, looking into the various compartments. She felt a little like the older students kept looking down on her, but she wasn't too worried yet; secondary school hadn't been too different the first day.

She found an empty compartment and went ahead and changed into her Hogwarts robes to get that out of the way. Then, she sat down and pulled out her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, one of the books she hadn't got around to finishing yet. She'd read through all of the course books, naturally, and even memorised the spell lists. She'd met a girl with a photographic memory at secondary school last year who once encouraged her to memorise whole books, but while Hermione's own memory was very good, it wasn't _that_ good. With as much background reading as she was doing, it wasn't worth the time to read through everything three times to learn it by heart.

A pair of first year girls who looked to be close friends entered her compartment and introduced themselves as Susan and Hannah as the train got underway. They were both pureblood witches, but they were nice enough. She asked them about the houses at Hogwarts. Both Susan's and Hannah's families usually went to Hufflepuff, but Hermione couldn't decide whether Gryffindor of Ravenclaw sounded the best to her. They chatted for a little while about the differences between their two worlds, but Hermione felt as if she were speaking a foreign language when she tried to explain electricity to them.

She was about to give up and return to her book when a pudgy first-year boy showed up at their door with tears in his eyes. "Sorry…have any of you seen a toad?" he whimpered. "I can't find him."

Susan and Hannah just shook their heads, but Hermione stood up and said, "No, there haven't been any toads in here. Where did you last see him?"

"Back at the end of the train," the boy said.

"Well, let's look back there, then. I'll help you. He's not that fast, is he?"

"I don't know…I never see Trevor move very fast, but he keeps disappearing." He seemed to suppress another whimper.

They looked in the first couple of compartments and didn't see anything. This would be easier with some kind of detection or summoning spell, but there weren't any of those that would be useful in the first year books.

"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she said remembering her promise to make some friends. "What's your name?"

"Neville," he said, and then, as if as an afterthought, "Neville Longbottom."

"Pleased to meet you."

The next compartment they checked contained two first-year boys, a taller one with flaming red hair, and a small, skinny one with messy black hair. He should really try to comb it, Hermione thought. "_Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one_," she said, but she didn't even hear the redheaded boy's reply when she noticed that he held his wand in his hand. Maybe she could finally see some serious magic firsthand.

"_Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."_

_She sat down. The boy looked taken aback._

"_Er—all right."_

_He cleared his throat._

"_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

_He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The rat stayed grey and fast asleep._

"_Are you sure that's a real spell?" said Hermione. "Well, it's not very good is it. I've tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it's all worked for me. _And _Numerology and Grammatica_ says that most spells aren't even in English because the syllable structure has to match up with the wand movements, and English has fewer syllables than most Western languages."

"The syllable what, now?" the redhead said, but Hermione was still talking.

"_Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter. _But I was ever so pleased when Professor Vector said I could take Arithmancy to continue my maths studies. I've read all the other course books too, of course—_I just hope it will be enough—I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?_" She stopped short as she realised that she had been talking over the two boys at a mile a minute, and they were now just staring at each other in surprise.

"I'm Ron Weasley," the redhead muttered.

"Harry Potter, the other boy said.

Hermione's eyes widened. Of course, she had added up the numbers and figured out that Harry Potter would be starting at Hogwarts this year, but the scrawny boy in ill-fitting clothes in front of her was not at all what she had expected. All the books painted him as some great and powerful hero.

"_Are you really?" she said. _"_I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History _and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_." _Although come to think of it, now, how could they know anything about him if he really had been raised by muggles like they said and no one had seen him for the last ten years?

"_Am I?" said Harry, looking dazed. _

"_Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," _she said. Harry just shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you really taking Arithmancy?" Neville finally broke his silence. "That's a third year class."

"Oh yes, Professor Vector came and tested me and she said I could start it right away as an extra class."

"Blimey," Ron interrupted. "Why would you want to take an extra class."

Well, that settled her opinion of Ron Weasley. "Because it's ever so interesting. I've been taking extra maths classes all through primary school, and Arithmancy uses a lot of maths. And in the fifth year class, we even get to invent our own spells. _Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon._"

The two of them went on to the next compartment. "Do you know what house you'll be in, Neville?" she asked.

"Probably Hufflepuff," he said sadly. "But my Gran wants me to be in Gryffindor like my Dad."

A couple of compartments later, they finally found his toad, and the boy shook her hand and thanked her profusely. That problem solved, Hermione began wonder how much longer it would be. It was getting dark outside. _Well, nothing for it_, she thought. She worked her way to the very front of the train, past the first car that held the prefects who were not on patrol (she made sure to memorise as many of their faces as she could in case she needed help later), until she reached the conductor.

"Excuse me, sir," she called to him. "Could you tell me when we'll arrive?"

"Aye, we're almost there, lass," the conductor said. "About twenty more minutes, we'll be at Hogsmeade Station."

"Thank you." She hurried back to her compartment to get her luggage, but as she approached, she heard a commotion. There was shouting coming from a few cabins down. As she approached the cabin, the one she recognised as containing Harry Potter, a prefect came from the other direction, and suddenly the door burst open. A smarmy-looking blond boy and two larger, tough boys came storming out towards her down the hall. The pushed past her roughly with the prefect following close behind, shouting at them. _How childish!_ she thought.

She ducked into the cabin to escape the chaos only to find it again on the inside. The two boys' piles of sweets were scattered all over the floor, and Ron Weasley was picking up his pet rat by the tail.

"What _has_ been going on?" she said. "And why are you hurting your poor rat?"

"He won't feel it," Ron said, examining the rat closely. "_I think he's been knocked out—no, wait—I don't believe it! He's gone back to sleep." _Ron set the rat back on the seat. "So you've met Malfoy before?" he said to Harry.

"Malfoy?" Hermione said. "Is he one of those boys that—"

"Yeah, the little blond ponce," Harry said with surprising annoyance. "I ran into him when I was getting my robes in Diagon Alley. He was all about how he wanted to be in Slytherin, and he kept making fun of Hufflepuff House and Hagrid and muggle-born wizards."

Hermione made a mental note to stay far away from Malfoy.

"Everyone's heard about his family," Ron said darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been under _Imperius_—that's the mind control curse—but a lot of people don't believe them. My Dad says the Malfoys have been dark all the way back to the Conquest."

"Who was You-Know-Who, anyway?" Hermione asked. "None of the books I read would even print his name."

"Hagrid told me," Harry said, glancing at Ron, who seemed to brace himself. "It's Voldemort, but no one likes to say it."

"But why? It's just a bad French pun."

"It's…huh…" Ron said, surprised. "I never noticed that…But still, you just don't say it. You're muggle-born—no offence, but you haven't heard the stories."

"I've read the books," Hermione defended herself.

_A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."_

"Sorry, would you mind leaving while we change?" Ron said.

"All right. Oh, and did you know you've got dirt on your nose?" She was trying to be helpful, but Ron scoffed at her as she left.

Since she didn't need to get her luggage, she decided to line up by the doors. She was glad she did, as a crowd was rapidly forming. The train slowed to a stop and everyone pushed out onto a small dark platform.

A single lantern bobbed along the platform. It looked as if someone was holding it over their head, but when it approached the middle of the crowd, it amazingly rose up even higher, and Hermione found herself looking up into the face of the largest man she had ever seen.

He was somewhere between eleven and twelve feet tall, she estimated. He must not be fully human. Not giant, though. She'd read about them, and they were even bigger—maybe half and half, though, if it were possible. He wore a huge, black, bushy beard and seemingly-uncombed hair, and he boomed out in a rough-sounding voice, "_Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there Harry?"_ This must be the Hagrid that Harry was talking about. "_C'mon follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"_

Hagrid led them down a steep, narrow path that appeared to be cut through a forest. Hermione thought they ought to put in hand rails or stairs or something to navigate it in this darkness. She couldn't see any of the grounds from here, but then the path opened onto the edge of a loch, the water blacker than pitch under the starry sky. Beyond the loch was a high mountain atop which sat Hogwarts Castle, its windows glittering against the backdrop of stars.

Even Hermione couldn't help oooooh-ing at the beauty of the castle with the other students. She had read all about it on the train, and it was not too different from how she had pictured it, with its many turrets and towers, but it was huge. Seven stories tall, and the highest towers had to be over two hundred feet, taller than any muggle castle she'd ever heard of. Some of the architectural features she was certain could only be supported with magic.

She barely noticed as she found herself in a little boat with Neville, Ron, and Harry, being entirely focused on the castle as it loomed higher and higher and drew closer and closer. The lake was as smooth as glass. The many boats barely made the slightest ripple. That must be part of the magic, too, she realised, and her mind blossomed with the possibilities for using magic to enhance the beauty of nature on such a grand scale.

"Trevor? Trevor! Where's he gone, now?" Neville cried, looking around the boat for his toad.

"Heads down!" Hagrid ordered. They all ducked as they reached the entrance to a cave and passed through a curtain of ivy. They were in a long dark tunnel, but Hermione thought she saw glints of light off the wall. She let her eyes adjust and saw angular shapes. Crystals! They were in a crystal cave that would have to be incomparably stunning if it were lit properly, but the wizards seemed to be all but ignoring it. They sailed far enough in that they must be underneath the castle when they reached a small underground harbour.

The harbour was lit by a few torches, but they still only gave a haunting hint of the splendour of the walls of quartz surrounding them—though she supposed that, lit as if by starlight in the flickering flames, it had a kind of subdued beauty all its own. She saw a large staircase rising from one side of the harbour and another dark tunnel extending directly forward.

The first years clambered out of the boats onto rocks and pebbles and little bits of quartz. Hermione discreetly picked up a few of them and put them in her pocket to look at later. She had an odd feeling about them. Hagrid, she noted, found Neville's toad again, not in their own boat, but in a different one. Hagrid was about to lead them up the stairway, when Hermione stepped forward and pointed down the dark tunnel: "Please, Mr. Hagrid, where does that go?"

"That? Oh, that goes to the Foundation Stones of the Castle, of course," the huge man said, as if that explained everything. She added it to her mental list of things to look up in the library when she had the time.

Hermione estimated the stairway to be about two hundred feet high based on what she had seen of the cliff outside, winding up through another dark passage that slowly morphed from quartz to granite as they climbed upwards. Hagrid took the steps three at a time like they were nothing, but the group of eleven-year-olds behind him quickly began to tire. Luckily, there was a landing about halfway up where the stairs doubled back that was large enough for them to rest for a few minutes. Hermione was very glad now that she didn't have to carry her own trunk. It was hard enough with these heavy woollen robes.

The stairs came out in a small, grassy courtyard just at the edge of the cliff. If Hermione's sense of direction hadn't failed her, the dark tunnel to the Foundation Stones must have ended up under the largest tower. The students staggered out into the open and up to the great oaken front doors. Even Hagrid looked small against those doors, but he still made plenty of noise when he raised a fist the size of a bowling ball and pounded on them three times.

The doors swung open in a rush, revealing…Professor McGonagall. Hermione sighed with relief when she saw the familiar witch standing in the entranceway wearing an elegant emerald green robe. The first years followed her inside, their footsteps echoing in the enormous entrance hall. The sheer scale of the place was incredible. The marble staircase that rose up to her right was probably the broadest she had ever seen after the Spanish Steps in Rome. She could hear a drone of hundreds of voices somewhere up ahead, but Professor McGonagall first led them into a small annex near the doors.

"_Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room._

"_The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours._

"_The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."_

_Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair._

"_I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."_

_She left the chamber. Harry swallowed._

"_How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron._

"_Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."_

_A test? _Hermione thought. That seemed unlikely since they all knew little-to-no magic. And it didn't seem like the houses were ranked like a test would do. And they certainly wouldn't hurt the students to sort them…would they? All the other first years looked very nervous, and Herimone was finding it was contagious. She guessed it was some kind of tradition not to tell the first-years how the Sorting was done—a tradition she was approving of less with each passing moment. She whispered the spell lists she had memorised to herself to calm her nerves, but this only made the others around her more nervous.

Then she screamed.

She felt embarrassed at once, as she had read about the Hogwarts Ghosts that afternoon, but it was still jarring to see pale, transparent spirits floating out of the wall and gliding on toward the feast. _Dead people!_ That was going to be hard to get used to. At least she wasn't the only one who screamed. Harry had leapt about a foot in the air.

And yet, what a wealth of knowledge! Some of them had lived centuries ago. Between the ghosts and the magical portraits she had read about, there was probably more history to be told than was contained in the library.

McGonagall soon returned and led them out of the annex and across to the double doors of the Great Hall. Hermione had been waiting to see this most of all, and she wasn't disappointed. It was easily the most magical place she had yet seen, and her anxiety at the impending Sorting was momentarily forgotten as she took in its splendour. The long wooden tables were impossibly luxurious, with golden (or at least gold-plated) plates and goblets. The professors were lined up at another long table at the head of the Hall, and at the centre, the most powerful wizard in the world, Albus Dumbledore himself, sat on a golden throne. Above the tables, floating candles filled the hall from just over the students' heads to the ceiling—a little over nine thousand, at a quick estimate—filling the Hall with a warm, homey sort of light. They flickered as the ghosts floated through them, seemingly oblivious.

The ceiling itself was velvety black and dotted with stars just visible through the candles. It was so well camouflaged that it looked as if the Hall were simply open to the heavens. Astronomy class would be wonderful here so far from any cities or towns, or, indeed, anyone who used electricity.

The girl behind her elbowed her, and she looked forward again to see Professor McGonagall placing a wooden stool and and old, patched-up, dirty witch's hat at the front of the Hall. There was complete silence, and she wondered how a hat could be part of the Sorting when a seam on the hat ripped open and it began _to sing_.

The "Hogwarts Sorting Hat's" musical skills left much to be desired. Hermione actually winced at the loyal-toil rhyme. But when the song ended, the Hall burst into applause. She politely clapped along.

Then McGonagall called the roll. Hannah and Susan went first, back to back. Sure enough, they both went to "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hermione admired the brilliant simplicity of the Sorting process, even if she was a little unnerved by the idea that a hat could read her mind. Seriously, "There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see," sounded kind of creepy.

Seamus Finnegan went to "GRYFFINDOR!" after the hat sat on his head for nearly a minute, and Hermione's apprehension grew again. What if the hat couldn't sort her? What if the hat threw her into Slytherin where all the unsavoury characters seemed to be going? She barely noticed as Anthony Goldstein went to "RAVENCLAW!" and Gregory Goyle was almost instantly sent to "SLYTHERIN!"

"Granger, Hermione," McGonagall called.

She ran to the podium, mainly because she was so tense that her only other option was to turn on her heels and run away. She jammed the hat on her head, and it immediately shouted out "RAV—" then stopped. "No, perhaps not…" the hat murmured in a voice only she could her.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hat," she whispered, or perhaps she only thought it. "What's wrong with Ravenclaw?"

A little to her surprise, the hat answered: "Oh, you would be great in Ravenclaw, no doubt about it. I haven't had the pleasure of sorting a mind like yours in over fifty years. But I do not send students to the house where they would excel with ease, but to the house that they need to realise their full potential. And there is more than raw brainpower in _your_ head. There is a spark of something greater—a spark that must be cultivated, and for that job, you'd better be…GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione smiled with relief to be sorted into one of her two preferred houses, even as she began to ponder what the Sorting Hat had said. The students applauded, especially the Gryffindor Table, but as she placed the hat back on the stool, she was sure she saw a faint look of surprise on Professor McGonagall's face. Unbeknownst to her, at the High Table, Professors Vector and Flitwick also wore looks of surprise, while Dumbledore appeared thoughtful.

Hermione all but skipped to the table and sat down next to the tallest of the redheaded boys, whom she recognised as the prefect who was chasing Malfoy on the train. A set of redheaded twins were sitting opposite him, and a ghost with a nasty cut across his throat was a little further down.

"Congratulations on making Gryffindor, Miss Granger," the prefect said quietly, offering his hand to shake. "I'm Percy Weasley, fifth year prefect."

"Pleased to meet you, Percy," Hermione said in between sortings. "I met your brother, Ron, on the train."

"Oh yes, ickle Ronniekins," one of the twins said.

"Do hope he makes Gryffindor," the other twin said.

"Can't imagine what would happen—"

"—if he were in Slytherin."

"The green would clash horribly with his hair."

"Not to mention Mum would kill him."

"Fred. George. Cool it," Percy scolded. They paused as the Hall applauded for another student.

"But congrats on Gryffindor," the one she thought was Fred said.

"Yes, haven't seen the hat change its mind like that before," George added.

"Classes haven't even started, and she's already shaking things up, brother."

"Indeed, a woman after our own hearts."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," the twins said in unison with a small bow of their heads.

"Pleasure," Hermione replied uncomfortably. Seriously, were these two reading each other's minds?

At the front of the Hall, McGonagall said, "Potter, Harry."

Silence descended, only to be broken by a rising wave of whispers as the skinny, messy-haired boy slowly walked up to the stool and put on the hat. The hat's seam was undulating strangely, and, watching closely, she could see Harry's lips moving. He must be having a conversation with the hat, too. She wondered what he was saying.

After about half a minute, the hat screamed out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The hall erupted with shouts and cheers far louder than anyone else had got. The whole Gryffindor table shot to its feet, and Hermione was caught up with them, applauding for the extremely relieved looking boy who was now making his way toward them. Fred and George started loudly chanting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!", and Percy reached out and shook his hand vigorously before Harry finally sat down next to her.

The last few students were sorted. Hermione clapped loudly when Ron was sorted into Gryffindor and sat on Harry's other side after being congratulated by his brothers. And finally, Blaise Zabini went to "SLYTHERIN!"

It was then that Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet, smiling broadly, his arms spread wide like Moses, his long hair and beard shining silver as if they had been charmed to glow in the candlelight. "_Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"_

Hermione sat still, her eyes wide. _This_ was the greatest wizard alive? The Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, and defeater of Grindelwald?

"_Is he—a bit mad?" Harry asked Percy uncertainly._

"_Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"_

Hermione looked down at the table to find a marvellous feast had appeared in the blink of an eye: seven kinds of meat, piles of vegetables, ketchup, gravy, and…peppermint humbugs? Not her first choice, but still, the rest of it looked delicious, and it most certainly was…until she took a sip out of her goblet.

"Ugh," she said, screwing up her face. "What _is_ this stuff?"

"Pumpkin juice," Percy said lightly.

"_Pumpkin_ juice?"

"You'll get used to it."

She was about to respond when she witnessed something even more disgusting: the ghost across the table "nearly" removed his head from his body. Hermione raised her napkin to her nose and mouth and took a deep breath to prevent herself from losing her dinner when she'd barely started it.

_Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."_

_They looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements._

"_How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest._

"_I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately._

Desperate to change the subject back to something, well, living, Hermione turned to Harry. The boy barely seemed disgusted at all by the blood-stained ghosts. In fact, he was scarfing his food. It made her wonder a little, since he was so small—not unhealthy, as far as she could tell—but definitely small.

"So what did the Sorting Hat say to you?" she whispered to him.

"Huh?" he looked at her nervously.

"I saw your lips moving. I was wondering what you talked about…I'm sorry, it's alright if you don't want to say."

Harry swallowed and took a swig of pumpkin juice, grimacing only a little at the strange drink. "Um…did it…did it talk to you?" he said.

"Uh huh. It said I'd do well in Ravenclaw, but it wasn't what I 'needed'."

Harry looked surprised at that, and he cautiously whispered so that no one else could hear, "It…it said I'd do well in Slytherin, but I asked it not to put me there."

"You can do that? Well…I think if you didn't want to go there, it probably wasn't right for you, anyway." Harry seemed to accept this and went back to his steak.

As soon as everyone was done eating the dinner, desert appeared on the table in amazing variety. Finally away from her parents' watchful eyes, Hermione helped herself to ice cream, apple pie, and a chocolate eclair.

"So, Miss Granger," Percy said, perhaps a little patronisingly. "Are you excited for classes to start?"

"Oh, yes! I _do_ hope they start right away. Professor Vector's letting me start Arithmancy this year, but I'm interested in Transfiguration, too."

"Arithmancy?" Percy said in surprise. "I've never heard of someone taking an elective early. You must be _really_ good to have convinced Professor Vector. She's quite strict."

"Oh, you take Arithmancy?"

"Of course. It's a very useful class if you're willing to put in the effort. You'll be starting small, though—predictions and probability tables, that sort of thing—What is it?" Percy asked Harry, who seemed to have come down with a sudden headache.

"N-nothing," Harry said, although Hermione thought it was strange that he immediately asked about Professor Snape, the potions master, afterwards. She filed it away for future reference.

_At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent. "Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you._

"_First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins._

"_I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors._

"_Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch._

"_And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."_

_What?_ Hermione thought. What kind of warning was _that_? Wasn't that just _inviting _people to go up there? And why would they have something that could cause a "very painful death" in a school in the first place?

"_And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. He gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words._

"_Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"_

After that "performance", it was easy to see where the Sorting Hat got its musical tastes. Hermione had done some music, and there were musical clubs at Hogwarts she had been interested in, but she now had to wonder about the quality of those clubs.

They were dismissed, and Percy led the first years up to the Gryffindor dormitories, along the "quickest route". Unfortunately, the quickest route involved going up staircases that "liked to change" or had a vanishing step, walking through sliding panels and behind tapestries, and evading the castle poltergeist. Giving a password to the portrait of the Fat Lady was one thing, but the rest of it was just asking to get lost for days. Hermione resolved to try to get a map of the castle from someone, and if she couldn't find one, she would step off the corridors and start making one herself next weekend.

* * *

Hermione was sure that she would get plenty of exercise at Hogwarts just climbing up to her dormitory. It was seven flights up from the Great Hall to the Common Room and another seven to her bedroom.

"Just our luck first years get the top floor this year," said a girl with curly, dirty-blond hair in front of her.

"I know, I can't believe they expect us to climb up and down these things every day," said one of the Patil twins—Parvati, she was pretty sure. "I've heard Slytherin and Hufflepuff have all their rooms on the same floor…I'll bet Padma's got the same problem as us, though."

"Augh, finally!" the blond-haired girl said. Hermione nearly ran into her as she reached the door. "Oh, hi, I'm Lavender Brown," the girl said, turning around.

"Hermione Granger."

"Parvati Patil," the other girl said in as they opened the door.

Their bedroom was nearly semi-circular, with five four-poster beds lining the outside wall, alternating with windows. A small lavatory was visible through a door at the far end. A trunk had been placed at the foot of each bed, along with a calico cat sleeping on one of the beds. Hermione saw her own trunk at the spot nearest the door.

"It looks like the beds are assigned," she said.

"We can switch them if you want," Lavender offered.

"No, thanks. I think I'm good—"

They stopped as they heard a huffing and puffing sound, and a moment later, two more dishevelled-looking girls came staggering into the room supporting each other.

"Sally-Anne, are you okay?" Hermione rushed to help the ethereal, dark-haired girl she had met at orientation.

"I'd like to file a complaint with whoever designed this place," Sally-Anne said weakly, spotting her trunk and making her way to her bed.

The other girl, who wore light blond hair in multiple, asymmetric braids leaned against the door and explained, "That boy, Neville, tried to come up our stairs by mistake, and they turned into a slide, and we fell on top of him."

"Oh, no," the other three girls groaned.

"My name's Lily Moon, by the way," she added. The other girls all introduced themselves.

"Pleased to meet you," Sally-Anne told them wearily. "I'm gonna go to sleep, now." She flopped down onto her bed and was out like a light.

They watched her queerly for a moment, then turned their attention back to Lily.

"Is that you cat?" Lavender asked, pointing at the calico.

"Yes, that's Wendelin."

"Aw, she's so adorable."

"Yeah, just watch out when she wakes up. She'll steal your socks." The other girls giggled.

Hermione considered doing some more reading, but she found that she was so tired after the train ride and that big feast that it wasn't worth the trouble. She settled on organising her books for the week's classes on her bedside table before going to sleep, wishing the professors would hand out the schedules more than an hour before classes started.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Mathematically speaking, my ownership of any rights to the Harry Potter franchise is 0%.

A/N: Thanks to aplusbex for pointing out that there may be some confusion about what maths Arithmancy covers. Basically, N.E.W.T.s are equivalent to A-levels, which do include calculus.

Thanks to everyone else who suggested ideas about arithmancy and spellcrafting. I have some of my own as well, but I've made notes on all of them.

I will continue updating _The Arithmancer_ every Sunday for the foreseeable future, alongside my other ongoing story, _The Accidental Animagus_.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Breakfast the next morning was served Scottish style with black pudding, lorne sausage, and tattie scones alongside the bacon, eggs, and toast. The floating candles from the feast the night before were gone, and the Hall was brightly lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows and the blue sky on the enchanted ceiling above. Overhead, a whole parliament of owls came winging its way into the Hall, delivering letters and the occasional parcel to students and professors alike. Hermione hadn't quite believed (or wanted to believe) that owls were the main component of the post system in the magical world, but she couldn't deny it now.

Hermione sat near Percy again. The other Weasleys were scattered around a few seats away. Percy fielded a few questions from the other first years until Professor McGonagall approached him.

"Mr. Weasley, the first years' class schedules," she told him.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, rising to pass them out.

McGonagall then touched Hermione on the shoulder and told her, "Miss Granger, your first class will be Transfiguration with me in Classroom 1B on the first floor. Please come early. I will need to discuss your schedule with you personally."

"Yes, ma'am," she said, wondering if there had been a problem with the scheduling. She hoped there wouldn't be anything to disrupt her plans.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by one of the second years across from her whispering, "There look, next to the other Weasley."

"Wearing the glasses?" the boy's friend said. They were obviously talking about Harry Potter.

"Yeah, that's him."

"I can't see a scar from here. Did you see it?"

"Yeah, like a lightning bolt, just like everyone says."

"That's not very polite, you know," Hermione interrupted them. They stared at her in surprise. "Talking about him behind his back like that."

"It's _Harry Potter_," the first boy said, as if that made it alright.

"So? He's just here to learn, like the rest of us."

The second boy rolled his eyes. "You must be muggle-born."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" the first boy said quickly. "It's just that you wouldn't know how important Harry Potter is to the rest of us."

"Well, he doesn't know it either. I met him on the train yesterday, and he said he was muggle-raised—"

But there was a clatter as the two boys dropped their silverware and leaned toward her over the table, wide-eyed. "You met him?" the second boy said. "What's he like?"

She groaned to herself. "You know, you could just talk to him like a normal person." She finished her breakfast quickly after that, trying to avoid being asked any more such questions, and trudged up to her dormitory for her Transfiguration book. She considered taking the whole stack, but she decided she'd never be able to haul them back up the stairs that afternoon. Most of those books were pretty big.

She made it to Classroom 1B at a quarter to nine, easily the first student in the room, despite the difficulty of finding her way. There was only one fully enclosed connection between the residential and academic wings of the Castle, and it was down on the ground floor. Professor McGonagall was waiting for her when she arrived.

"Miss Granger. Good," McGonagall said. "I have your class schedule here. There was only one small difficulty. The third-year Arithmancy class conflicts with the first year Gryffindor-Ravenclaw History of Magic class. Now, I _was_ able to remedy this by placing you in the Hufflepuff-Slytherin section, if that's alright with you."

"Oh—of, course, Professor," Hermione said quickly once she realised she'd been asked a question.

"Good. I've placed your name on Professor Binns's roster for that section. However, as Professor Binns's memory for anything that's happened since 1954 is questionable on the best of days, it is possible that he may fail to recognise you or call on you. Please see me if you have any problems with him."

Well, _that_ was reassuring. "Yes, ma'am."

"Here is your schedule Miss Granger. I'll also write you a pass for Professor Quirrell's class so you have time to get your other books after this."

"Thank you, ma'am." Hermione took her seat and looked over the slip of parchment. She had Defence, Herbology, and History today—she would need her gloves as well as her books—and Charms and Arithmancy tomorrow. She balked when she saw Thursday: Astronomy ended at two in the morning, and she had to be up in time for Charms at ten-thirty. Then Potions only met on Friday for some reason, though the word on Professor Snape didn't exactly have her looking forward to that one.

The other students began to file in, her fellow Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs. Hannah and Susan waved to her as they took their seats. Ron and Harry were the last to arrive, running in and just barely beating the first bell.

Then Professor McGonagall stood and addressed the class: "Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor and five points to Hufflepuff for everyone getting to their first class on time." She must have a very good memory to rely on a head count and skip calling the roll after having only seen most of them at the Sorting, Hermione thought.

"_Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned._

"It is extremely important that you understand the fundamental rules governing transfiguration because it is easier here than in most branches of magic for something to go wrong. I want you all to write this clearly at the top of your notes and memorise it." She wrote in large letters on the blackboard: _Some transfiguration is permanent, and some is not._

"Some transfiguration is permanent, and some is not," she repeated aloud.

Hermione nodded to herself as she wrote the words at the top of her notes. This had been explained in graphic detail in the first chapter of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, but it was serious enough to require a strong reminder.

"For example," McGonagall said, "this is _not_ a permanent transfiguration." She waved her wand over her desk, and the desk changed into a pig. The class cheered and some of them laughed, but McGonagall held up her hand. They instantly fell silent again. "This is _not_ a permanent transfiguration," she repeated. "Left alone, it would change back into a desk within a few hours. Nor is it, in strictest terms, a pig, but only a magical construct that looks and behaves _like_ a pig—and that only as well as _my own_ knowledge of pigs allows. For any transfiguration, permanent or not, the result is only as good as the image in your mind."

She changed the pig-construct back to a desk and picked up the chalk again, writing a number one under the first line. "Now, under this line, you will write the most important safety rules of transfiguration. First, transfigured food is not edible. Say that with me, please…Transfigured food is not edible. You are not attempt to transfigure any food in this class or outside of it. We will _not_ be covering that topic.

"In _most_ cases, it will be obvious that transfigured food is not edible from the taste and smell, which is why this is not an even more dire rule than it is already. But transfigured food may look right; it may smell right; and if it is done extremely well, it may even taste right, but it is _not_ edible. It won't kill you unless it was transfigured from something poisonous, but it will make you quite ill, and we don't want to have any of that.

"Second," she continued, writing the next line on the blackboard, "transfigured clothing will change back at the worst possible time." This prompted some giggles from the class, but McGonagall remained stern. "It may sound funny now, but you don't want to have to worry about your robes untransfiguring themselves when you're outdoors in the middle of winter. You are not to attempt to mend or modify any clothing using transfiguration in this class unless you are specifically instructed to do so.

"Third, transfiguring money is illegal and will rarely fool anyone. I shouldn't even have to tell you that one. Most people can't make transfigured gold or silver last long enough to fool anyone anyway, but there always seems to be one person in Professor Dumbledore's Alchemy class who doesn't get the message. It _is_ illegal, and the goblins in particular do not take kindly to it." Some members of the class shuddered, having seen the goblins in action at Gringotts.

"Fourth, and most importantly, human transfiguration should _never_ be attempted below N.E.W.T. level. Again, human transfiguration should _never_ be attempted below N.E.W.T. level. Transfiguring any living subject is more difficult than normal, and human transfiguration is particularly dangerous when it goes wrong, although it is _usually_ reversible. You will not attempt to transfigure _any_ living subject unless specifically instructed, and you will not attempt human transfiguration on yourself or anyone else, _even if instructed_. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor." To their credit, every student answered. Minerva McGonagall's presence was that commanding, especially when she was talking about things that were _usually_ reversible.

"We will revise these rules several times over the course of the year, and we will study in depth the consequences should they be broken. I expect all of you to keep them most scrupulously. I have not had any students permanently injured by transfiguration during my tenure at Hogwarts, and I do not intend to break that streak.

"Today, then, we will begin with the free transfiguration of a matchstick into a needle. This is not the easiest transfiguration, even with its small scale, because any kind of metal is difficult, but I believe in laying the groundwork early for the more conceptually challenging forms of transfiguration later on…"

Professor McGonagall spent most of the period explaining in great detail exactly how transfiguration worked on a fundamental magical level, the silent incantation for free transfiguration and how it related to the actual transformation, and the mental concepts of changing form and substance that were required to be held in mind to make it work. Most of the class seemed disappointed and impatient to get to the actual wandwork, but Hermione found it fascinating. It seemed to mesh together bits of Arithmancy, a dash of muggle chemistry, a surprisingly large dose of Platonic philosophy, and practical magical instruction. Granted, most of it was in _Magical Theory_, but she thought Professor McGonagall did a better job of explaining it.

With about half an hour left in the class, she finally handed out the matches. Free transfiguration was indeed very difficult, not like the simple charms Hermione had tried. She worked very hard, applying the silent incantation while focusing on the mental forms, just as McGonagall had said. By the end of class, she was dismayed to see she was only halfway there; she had succeeded in transfiguring her match into a metal toothpick, but not a needle. But she swelled with pride when McGonagall actually smiled at her and showed her results to the class. It was only then that she noticed that the other nineteen students all still had nothing but matches.

Hermione rushed down to the ground floor to get back to the West Wing and then up the fourteen flights of stairs to her dorm to grab the rest of her books and got to Defence class only a few minutes late. Her legs felt like lead by the end of it, though, and she was panting like she'd just run about a mile. She could tell it was going to be a long year. At this rate, she was worried might need to see Madam Pomfrey for muscle strain before the week was out, if there was even anything that could be done for that. She could see it was wearing on some of her classmates, too.

Meanwhile, Defence class itself meant sitting in a sickeningly thick odour of garlic while listening to Professor Quirrell stutter his way through basic principles of jinxes. Hermione had a very hard time giving him his due respect as a professor, since it looked like he wouldn't be able to defend himself from so much as a swarm of pixies if he had to.

After lunch was Herbology. Hermione had been dreading Herbology more than any of her other classes since she was decidedly not the outdoorsy type. But she soon found there were advantages to a more hands-on class. Professor Sprout believed in taking fewer notes, since _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _was about as good a reference as anyone could hope for, and instead focusing on the practical side of growing and working with plants. First year would mainly teach identification of common plants and the basic principles of gardening, primarily with non-magical plants—or at least plants that were known to muggles—since an awful lot of them tended to find their way into potions. Hermione quickly learnt that being able to get some fresh air and work with her hands gave her a chance to relax and partially disengage her overactive, analytical mind. It wasn't what she was used to, but she enjoyed it much more than she expected.

History of Magic, on the other hand, was no better than Defence. Professor Binns successfully called her name once on the role and then called her "Miss Grant" every other time he addressed her, presumably after someone he had taught in 1954. She'd have to keep an eye out to make sure her grades got in correctly. He began lecturing at the very beginning—the earliest known evidence of magic: stone circles unearthed in Turkey that were estimated to be ten thousand years old, twice as old as Stonehenge. Hermione had enjoyed _A History of Magic_, but Professor Binns was so mind-numbingly dull that she could barely stay awake. The Hufflepuffs in the class could barely stay awake, too, and the Slytherins were too hypnotised to make any trouble, for which she was grateful. She was a little disappointed in the castle ghosts in general. It seemed like only Sir Nicholas and the Fat Friar were the only ones who were really talkative.

She spent the rest of the afternoon checking out the library, partly for its own sake and partly so she wouldn't have to go all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower. The library was certainly impressive, and why not? Since there didn't seem to be any public libraries in the magical world, and the largest collection of scholars was right here, why shouldn't Hogwarts have the most books, too? But even so, there were thousands of them! She did some quick figuring and decided that the Hogwarts library must have a majority of all the books on magic ever written in Britain, and there was quite a selection from Canada, the United States, and Australia, as well a substantial foreign language section. She was pleased to see there were also extra copies of all the textbooks for all seven years.

Hermione ate diner mostly in silence that night. Percy Weasley was already engrossed in his O.W.L. classes. He boasted about taking twelve O.W.L.s that year, which surprised Hermione since she thought one could only take ten courses. Percy was suspiciously evasive when she asked him how he could schedule that. Fred and George also said hello to her, but she was trying to keep her distance from them, having heard of their reputation by now. Her fellow first years made small talk about their classes and complained about how much homework they had already. That was a lot like her secondary school all over again. She'd have to try to find some studious Ravenclaws to hang out with if she wanted to converse with people more on her level.

In the evening, she sat in the Common Room and read up for the next day for a while before going to bed. She tried to talk to her roommates some, but Sally-Anne was already falling asleep, Lily was busy doing her hair, and Parvati and Lavender, easily the chattiest girls in the room, were far more preoccupied with things like clothes, gossip, and Quidditch than schoolwork, so she gave up on that pretty quickly.

* * *

"Parvati Patil?"

"Present."

"Padma Patil?"

"Present."

"Sally-Anne Perks?"

"Present."

"Harry Pot—EEK!"

Professor Flitwick dropped the class roster and swung his arms in little circles as he lost his balance and toppled off the pile of books he was standing on with a thud. A few people laughed, but Hermione, among others, was concerned until she saw his hands appear on top of the desk and he climbed back to his feet.

"Ah, terribly sorry about that, class," he squeaked. "Now, then, Mr. Potter?"

"Uh, present, sir," said the shy, dark-haired boy.

Professor Flitwick was obviously part goblin with his wrinkly bald head and bushy white beard. And at about three-foot-six, he was small even by goblin standards, but he was definitely very knowledgeable about his subject—the rumour was he had been a world-class duelling champion back in the day and had earned a Doctor of Sorcery in Charms.

Much like Professor McGonagall, he began with a long lecture on the theory of Charms. Transfiguration may have been difficult and dangerous, but Charms wasn't exactly easy either. You had to say exactly the right words with the right inflection and rhythm, with the correct wand movement and a clear picture of the spell in your mind. The slightest slip of the tongue could produce disastrous and unpredictable results, although the magic became more forgiving with experience.

Unlike Professor McGonagall, however, Professor Flitwick believed in starting with the very simplest spells and elements of wand handling. When it came time to start the practical lesson, he told the class to get out their wands and simply wave them to produce uncontrolled sparks. That was a lot of fun. Everyone's sparks were different colours, and sparks were flying all over the classroom. Some were only one colour, while some were more than one, like Harry's red and gold, and Morag MacDougal produced an entire rainbow. Neville Longbottom seemed to need to use a lot of effort to produce any sparks. He didn't get very many, and the ones he did were a horribly clashing purple and orange.

Professor Flitwick then taught them the incantation to force their wands to produce _white_ sparks, _Argentious_. This, Hermione deduced, was to help learn how to control their raw magical energy to cast the _Lumos_ charm, which was the first spell taught in _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_. Hermione's sparks were pretty close to white to start with, so the charm came easily to her. Professor Flitwick praised her work to the class and said that her natural colour showed a high degree of magical control.

After lunch, though, came the class she had most been waiting for: Arithmancy. She wasn't intimidated by going to a class with students two years older than her; she had sat in on the trigonometry class for a while last year, although the pace had wound up being too slow for her. But she did turn some heads as she walked confidently into the classroom.

Professor Vector was already seated at her desk, and a few students from all four houses sat around the room. A tall and, if she did say so, handsome boy in Hufflepuff robes sitting near the door turned toward her as she entered. "Can I help you?" he asked. "What classroom are you looking for?"

"This one," Hermione answered. The boy's eyebrows shot up, as did some others.

"Miss Granger will be joining our class this year, Mr…Diggory, is it," Vector explained, checking her roster for his name.

"What?" spat a black-haired boy in Slytherin robes. "She can't be in this class, she's just a m—firstie."

"Mr. Montague, I have interviewed Miss Granger personally, and I am confident that she can handle the material," Vector defended her. "And you will show appropriate respect."

Montague settled in, grumbling, and Hermione smiled a little. With only Professors Snape and Vector and Madam Hooch from Slytherin among the staff, that house really didn't get as much internal control as it needed. Professor Vector, it seemed, made sure to do her part.

Hermione sat down next to Alicia Spinnet, the reserve Quidditch chaser she had met at breakfast. About a minute later, a Ravenclaw wearing his hair long came in and sat on her other side. He looked past her and gave Alicia a questioning look.

"Hermione Granger," Alicia whispered. "She tested in. Hermione, this is Roger Davies. He's on the Ravenclaw team." They nodded in acknowledgement to each other just before Professor Vector stood to call the role. The class was nearly half Ravenclaws, with only three Gryffindors besides herself. With a few notable exceptions, most Gryffindors didn't seem to be the analytic type.

"Welcome to Arithmancy class," she told them. "Arithmancy is perhaps the most analytical and challenging branch of magic. It is _not_ for those who are looking for an easy O. But it is also useful in ways that other forms of magic cannot hope to match. Most modern spellcrafting and even some potions innovations are done by arithmancy. It forms the foundation for curse-breaking, magic reversal, spell detection, and spell analysis. It is an integral part of alchemy and advanced astronomy, and an excellent aid to improve rune-based magic and wards. It is also used for statistical prognostication, which, in my humble opinion, is far more reliable than any other form of divination because it can be backed up with hard numbers, although I'm sure Professor Trelawney would disagree." Everyone but Hermione laughed.

"We will mainly focus on arithmantic prognostication this year, since that requires the least complex mathematics, but we will also cover the mathematical and magical foundations of spell analysis and spellcrafting. These things can be quite tricky and must be done with great care, so I expect a full and focused effort from each of you. In particular, there is to be no fooling around with untested spells. Doing that is far more likely to land you in the hospital wing than anything else." Everyone nodded. Professor Vector's reputation regarding fooling around was similar to Professor McGonagall's.

"I would like to begin the class with a short quiz," Professor Vector continued. She began to hand out pieces of parchment. "You will not be graded on it, and, indeed, most of you will probably not be able to finish it. It is merely to ascertain your level of mathematical instruction. I do this because students often come into this class with very different backgrounds in the subject. In fact, I've noticed that maths is the one area in which muggle schooling consistently outstrips our own," she added, looking pointedly at the Montague boy who had called Hermione out. "Please begin. You have ten minutes."

Hermione looked down at the parchment and saw that the quiz, unsurprisingly, was just arithmetic and basic algebra. She could do this in her sleep—literally. She'd had dreams about more complex maths than this. Even checking her answers, she was the first to put her quill down after less than five minutes. There were some snickers from people behind her who thought the little firstie had given up, but Alicia and Roger weren't laughing. They could see that she'd at least written something.

Professor Vector collected the quizzes and gave them a quick glance over, clearly just seeing how far people had got on them. She paused over one of them and scanned it from top to bottom, checking it against an answer sheet. Then she smiled at Hermione knowingly before continuing on, prompting some surprised and confused looks from the rest of the class.

"Good. It looks like you all have a solid foundation in arithmetic, so we can advance straight into numerology and probability. Later, we'll get into algebra and geometry. The O.W.L. exam in Arithmancy requires proficiency in these topics as components of basic spellcrafting and spell reversal. In fact, the maths portion of the exam is remarkable similar to muggle O-levels, or whatever they're called now. Should you choose to continue at N.E.W.T. level, we will study more advanced spellcrafting, an introduction to curse-breaking, and the equivalent of muggle A-level maths, that is, trigonometry and calculus.

"For a first look today, we will study the magical properties of the number seven and the ways in which sevens appear more often in magic than you would otherwise expect…"

Hermione found the first lecture not to be very interesting, but sitting through a couple weeks of tossing numbers around would be worth it when they got to the actual magic. She quickly concluded that Professor Vector was more subtle than any of her other professors in the way she interacted with her students, but they seemed to be on the same wavelength. She never mentioned her score on the quiz, but Hermione was certain that if it had been anything less than perfect, she would have received a slightly sadder smile.

"No, really, Cedric, she wrote the answers in like two minutes," she heard Roger Davies say to the Diggory boy on their way out. "Wait, there she is. Hey, Granger, when did you learn to do maths like that?" he asked.

Hermione blushed slightly as she tried to think back to her chaotic lesson schedules. "Um…those maths in particular? It must have been…two and a half years ago."

Cedric, Roger, and Alicia, who was standing nearby were gobsmacked. Cedric recovered first: "I can see why Professor Vector let you in the class…Miss Granger, would you like to join our study group? You'll probably need some help with the magic, since there will be third year spells, and you could help us with the maths."

Hermione was tempted to point out that she wasn't going to do their homework for them, but Roger and Cedric, at least, seemed pretty bright about that sort of thing from the way they'd answered Professor Vector's questions in the lecture. "Yes, I'd like that. Thank you," she said.

"Great. We were planning on meeting in the library on Mondays and Wednesdays after classes end—oh, but when do your Flying Lessons start?"

"I don't know. They haven't mentioned them." Hermione was _not_ looking forward to that class.

"They'll be Thursdays for Gryffindors, unless they've changed it," Alicia said.

"Well, that's fine then," Cedric said. "So, tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sure. I'll be there."

* * *

"Hey, Hermione," Parvati said when they made it up to their dorm that night. "Why weren't you in History class today?"

"Oh, I'm taking History with the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. I have Arithmancy Tuesday and Thursday."

"Arithmancy? I didn't know you could take that in first year."

"Well, I met Professor Vector this summer and tested into third year."

"Wow, that's great. I was a little worried. I didn't think you'd be one to skip class."

"Ooh, did you meet Cedric Diggory? I think he's in that class," Lavender interrupted.

"Yeah…he asked me to join his study group."

Parvati and Lavender both squealed loudly.

"Oh my God, what's he like?"

"Is he really cute?"

"Uh—yeah, I guess. But he's really nice, too, and he seemed pretty smart."

"Hermione, that's awesome," Lavender gushed. "Do you know if he's single?"

"I don't know! We only talked about maths!" Hermione said quickly.

"Padma said she thinks he's got his eye on Cho Chang in second year," Parvati replied.

"Ooh, tell me everything!"

The two of them soon devolved into a conversation about who was allegedly dating whom. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her books. _Some girls_, she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: (Money JK Rowling gets from Harry Potter) / (Money I get from Harry Potter) = Error: divide by zero.

Parts of this chapter have been quoted from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

A/N: Just so there's no confusion here, the Room of Requirement is over in the _East_ Wing. I won't make things quite _that_ easy for her.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione asked the next morning after barely finding her way to the Transfiguration classroom on the moving staircases. "Is it possible to get a map of the school somewhere?"

"A map? No, I'm afraid not, Miss Granger," McGonagall answered. "The castle changes too much for any maps to be useful."

"But couldn't you just mark where all the moving staircases go, ma'am? That would make it easier."

"No, it's a little more complicated than that. Everything moves around a bit over time in a place with as much magic as Hogwarts Castle. But not to worry, the classrooms hardly ever change, and I'm sure you'll find your way around in a few days."

Hermione wanted to say that she was interested in a map for more than just finding her way around, and just how could a thousand-year-old stone structure move around even with magic, anyway? But class was starting, so she held her tongue and took her seat. It didn't look like the professors would be that much help with this task. Maybe her fellow Arithmancy students would be able to help at their study session.

* * *

"What's a hundred and forty-six times eighty-seven?" Alicia Spinnet said.

"Twelve thousand seven hundred and two." Hermione didn't even hesitate.

Alicia checked the answer. "That's right."

"Wow," said Cedric Diggory.

"I told you she was that fast," Roger Davies replied smugly.

"Well, okay, but can you do bigger numbers?" Cedric asked Hermione.

"Uh huh."

"Alright, then…how about 6,843 times 9,572?" He scribbled down the numbers for himself.

Hermione still didn't hesitate, exactly, but she did have to slow down and sound out answer a bit: "65 million…501 thousand…196."

It took Cedric nearly a minute to check the answer, but he was amazed to find that was also correct. The three third years kept at it, interspersing a few addition and division problems to mix it up. But multiplying large numbers seemed to be the main focus of the questions they were giving her, which wasn't too different than at her secondary school. Wizards, of course, didn't know about other common challenges like finding the thirteenth root of a thirty-nine digit number (which was, in fact, quite easy) because, working with only quill and ink, it would have been nearly impossible for them to _find_ a thirty-nine digit number that was a perfect thirteenth power in the first place.

A small crowd, mostly composed of Ravenclaws, started to gather around as Hermione solved every problem correctly (no easy feat even for her), most of them in her head.

"Hey, I saw somebody do this once in a play," Alicia said. "What day of the week was 14 September, 1194."

It took her only a couple seconds. "Wednesday."

Alicia paused for a moment, then picked up her copy of _A History of Magic_. After flipping around for a couple minutes and thinking about it, she said, "Yeah, that's right."

"Whoa," several of the spectators said.

"24 March 1603," one of them threw out.

"Which calendar?" Hermione shot back.

"What?"

But she already had the answer: "It was a Thursday on the Julian Calendar, which was in use in Britain at the time, but a Monday on the Gregorian Calendar, which was in use on the Continent." The spectators all looked at each other, having not even thought of that problem.

"Alright, Granger," Roger said with an evil grin. "Try _this_ one." He slid across a piece of parchment to her on which she was expected to multiply two ten-digit numbers. He had been silent and carefully hiding what he was writing for the past five minutes, clearly needing the time to work out the problem for himself.

"Ooh…" several people said.

Hermione got right to work. The bystanders gasped when she started writing out the digits of the answer directly, two by two, without getting into those messy rows of addition that normal people used. It took her a little over a minute, but she put her quill down and confidently crossed her arms.

"There's no way that's right," one of the bystanders said.

"Check it!" said another.

"That's what I'm doing." Roger took the parchment back and checked it against his own work. "No, you got that wrong," he said. There were some murmurs from around the table.

That was possible, but unlikely, Hermione thought. She slid the parchment back over to her side and looked over Roger's work. It took her only a few seconds to spot the problem. "No, you made mistakes here and here," she pointed out.

Roger quickly snatched the parchment back and looked where she had pointed. "Dammit! You're right."

A few people cheered and others mocked Roger for being shown up by a first year, until Madam Pince shushed them all and forced the gathering to disperse.

"Hermione, that was incredible," Alicia whispered. "How did you do all that?"

"Just a lot of practice," she answered with a shy smile, coming down from her revelry.

"No, there has to be more to it than that," Cedric said. "I've never even heard of anyone that good."

"Not really. It's not…" She smirked a little. "It's not magic or anything like that. I mean, there's some tricks I could teach you, but, honestly, it's probably not worth the trouble for you to learn it. It's mostly for fun, and it doesn't help you all that much on more advanced maths."

"Yeah, but still, how did you get that good?" Alicia pressed.

"Well, a lot of it's just common sense things. Like I memorised the multiplication table up to 100 times 100. And that wasn't even from trying so much. I just practised enough that I remembered it. You have to memorise a lot of things: logarithm tables, prime numbers, and there's a bunch of seemingly random multiplications. Like—do you know what thirty-seven times twenty-seven is?"

"Ha, No! _You're _the human slide rule," Roger said.

"It's nine hundred ninety-nine. And that makes it really easy to multiply things by 37 because it's close to a round number. I've memorised a lot of those kinds of factorisations. Like 499,999 is 3,937 times 127."

"Okay, I can kind of see what you're saying," Cedric said, "but even knowing all that, I don't get how you can do bigger numbers that fast."

"Well, it's a little hard to explain. I can just kind of…see it."

"But…how?"

"It's…uh…well, look, you're all Quidditch players, right?"

"Yeah," they all said.

"I'm sorry, I don't know much about sports, but I assume you have formations and plays, and there are some that are probably standard to the game."

"Of course," said Roger.

"And when you first start playing, it's got to be hard to keep track of fourteen players on the pitch, right?"

"Well, sure, if you're a beginner," Alicia said. "But if you practice, you start to understand the formations."

Cedric and Roger nodded as they started to get the picture.

"Exactly," Hermione said. "If you practice enough, you stop seeing individual players and start seeing formations, and you can react faster. Well, with me, if it's something like…multiplying four-digit numbers, say, after I practised enough, I stopped seeing multiplying the digits and started just seeing the answer."

"That…that is _amazing_," Alicia exclaimed. "I didn't know you could that with _numbers_."

"Mm-hmm, I've read that you can do that with almost anything…But we should probably get started on the homework."

"Right," Cedric said, taking out the assignment that reportedly was already mystifying much of the class. "What are the chances that a random pair of socks from this drawer will match…? What does this have to do with making predictions?"

"Oh, you have to think of choosing the two socks as two separate events," Hermione said. "Making predictions is all about tying chains of events together."

"Okay, but what's this probability matrix? I mean, I read about it, but I don't really follow it."

"That just shows what all the different possible outcomes are—it's messier, but it might be easier to start off drawing a probability tree…"

With Hermione helping them to get on their feet mathematically, Alicia, Cedric, and Roger started to make sense of the basic elements of probability and statistics. Meanwhile, Cedric helped Hermione out with the more esoteric and magical aspects of numerology, although she was a very quick study herself. By dinner time, they had all made great progress on the homework, and the third years were all very glad they had invited the "little firstie witch".

"By the way," Hermione said as they were packing up, "do any of you know if there's anywhere I can find a map of the castle?"

"A map?" Cedric said, confused. "No, the castle changes too much to make a map. Why? You haven't been getting lost, have you?"

"Some. I took a wrong turn on the way to Transfiguration this morning and almost got detention from Mr. Filch because I wound up near the forbidden corridor."

"Ooh, that's not good," Alicia said. "Glad you slipped out of it. But don't worry. You'll get used to this place in a few days."

"Yes, that's what Professor McGonagall said…But it would be nice if I had a map and some pictures so I could show my parents what the castle's like. They'll never get to see it themselves."

The others paused and digested that. They clearly weren't used to thinking the way muggle-borns did. "Well, that would be nice," Cedric said, "but I'm afraid you won't find much. You can probably ask Madam Pince to copy some pictures of the castle, though."

"Oh—I guess I can do that, then." But silently, Hermione vowed that she would correct the oversight of the school of failing to produce a map. Seriously, what kind of excuse was "the castle changes too much"?

* * *

Hermione succeeded getting in a nap in before trudging up to the top of the Astronomy tower at midnight—more two hundred feet above the Middle Courtyard and more than four hundred above the Black Lake. The top of the tower was open to the full dome of the heavens, and a clear, moonless sky sparkled with thousands of stars. Hermione was moved to tears by the sight, and she was happy to see she wasn't the only one. She had never got far enough from the cities and towns to see a sky this dark, nor had many of the other students who lived near London.

Professor Sinistra graciously gave them a few minutes to admire the view. Then they viewed the rings of Saturn through their telescopes as it set. (Hermione had always thought Saturn looked a little _too_ perfect through a telescope and was very amused when Ron Weasley insisted his brothers had pranked him and painted it on his lens.) Then, the professor gave them a basic lecture on how to navigate on the sky: the North Star, the Ecliptic, the Milky Way, and how positions were measured on the sky. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about advances in muggle astronomy and even space travel, and she expressed great hopes for the Americans' Hubble Space Telescope, even though it would apparently be two more years before they got the thing working properly. "Imagine a telescope the size of a train car, flying around and around the Earth like the Moon!" she had said. Many of the purebloods refused to believe it, even when Hermione and Sally-Anne insisted it was true.

They climbed back down just after the old crescent Moon peaked over the hills in the east. Hermione managed to wake up in time for breakfast on Thursday and got through the day without incident, aside from getting a bit lost again. Then, she spent that evening reading up for Potions. According to Alicia, she would need to be especially prepared.

She had no idea.

* * *

"_Ah, Yes, Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity."_

_Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class._

"_You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."_

Well, that didn't seem very nice. You'd think a teacher would be above openly insulting his students. The Potions Master's words had Hermione on the edge of her seat with nervousness. This class might be harder than she thought.

"_Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"_

Seeing as she hadn't actually bothered to completely memorise _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, even Hermione's prodigious memory couldn't supply the answer with certainty. She was pretty sure the answer was Draught of the Living Death, just as she was pretty sure that it wasn't anywhere near a first year potion, but she kept her hand down. She wasn't about to give Professor Snape any ammunition to call _her_ a dunderhead.

"_I don't know, sir," said Harry._

_Snape's lips curled into a sneer._

"_Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"_

That one was pretty obvious to most, she thought. Malfoy and even Crabbe and Goyle were laughing at how easy it was. She could bet that a boy from an old, rich family like Malfoy would know all about poisons and their cures. But Harry was muggle-raised, she recalled. Sure, _she_ had read far enough ahead to know about bezoars, but it wasn't fair of Professor Snape to assume Harry had. She tentatively raised her hand, partly to try to deflect attention away from the boy, but Professor Snape ignored her.

"_I don't know, sir."_

"_Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter? What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"_

To his credit, Harry was still staring straight into Professor Snape's eyes. Hermione raised her hand firmly this time, though she might not have remembered that one either, except that she had seen references to wolfsbane here and there in other books.

"_I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"_

_A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked._

Hermione blushed. That wasn't exactly the kind of attention she had been going for, and it only got worse when Professor Snape snapped at her, "Put your hand down, you silly girl."

"_For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"_

_There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."_

Well, that settled it. Professor Snape was officially the worst teacher she had ever had. She didn't even have to wait to see how unhelpful he was. In the muggle world any teacher that openly rude and unfair would be sacked in a year. Professor Snape had been here for at least seven, according to the upper year students. She would have to remember to look up if there was a formal complaint process available.

As it happened, Snape—Hermione mentally stopped adding the "Professor" part about halfway through—wasn't much of a lecturer. One could charitably say that he believed in learning by doing, like Professor Sprout, except that Professor Sprout demonstrated most of the things she taught to them first, not to mention she was actually nice. Snape just told them to brew the Potion to Cure Boils from Chapter 1 of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ and then wandered around the classroom, inspecting their methods. His long, black cloak billowed out behind him as he walked, as if blown by a light breeze, even though the air in the dungeon was stagnant—far more stagnant, in fact, than it had any business being given the fumes they were producing. Hermione suspected there was a spell in play on the first point and could only hope there was a spell for the second as well.

Snape offered both compliments and helpful advice to the Slytherins, especially Malfoy. She was careful to write this down—advice was good any way she could get it—but he seemed to have only condescension for the Gryffindors in general and Harry Potter in particular.

Hermione had been paired with Dean Thomas, who wasn't too bad at potions himself, even though he was also muggle-raised, unlike the unfortunate duo of Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnegan.

The Potion to Cure Boils wasn't the simplest potion, or the easiest to make (though it scored better than most on both). But it was included in Chapter 1 of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ because it was one of the few potions that required no wand work at all. In principle, even a muggle could brew it if they had the ingredients.

Most potions required at least one spell, and often several, but many of the first-years would not be good enough with a wand to cast them reliably for a few weeks. The most common spell in potion-making was the charm to make the ingredients dissolve properly. After all, snake fangs and porcupine quills would not dissolve very well under any normal circumstances. But here, the Dissolving Charm would not interact well with the ingredients, so it was not used. Instead, concentrated bundimun secretion was added to the water to take care of that. Another common spell was the Sealing Charm that prevented any further dissolution of the ingredients once the potion was finished. Instead, this potion used mashed blueberries to counteract the corrosive effects of the bundimun secretion.

There were other spells, too, used for more advance potions: spells to add magical energy directly to the mixture, spells to protect any living matter that got into the cauldron, reducing the need for gloves, spells to only dissolve certain ingredients, or to speed up or prevent certain reactions between them. Unfortunately, there were trade-offs in everything, and this potion that required no wand work turned out to be temperamental in other ways, as Neville learnt painfully when he melted down Seamus's cauldron, _giving_ himself severe boils instead of curing them.

Since Snape was so unhelpful, just sending the two of them to the Hospital wing without explanation (or sympathy), it took Hermione a while flipping back and forth through the course books later to figure out what had happened. And to do it, she had to forget almost everything she knew about chemistry, or even cooking for that matter, and start thinking—she couldn't think of any better analogy—like a poet. The bundimun secretion was corrosive and also caused decay. The porcupine quills were barbed and thus scratched things badly (much more than the snake fangs). The fire weakened the soft pewter. The three different types of damage shouldn't have particularly amplified one another, but they did. Any two of them the magically-reinforced cauldron could withstand, but all three together were too much for it. When Neville added the porcupine quills without taking it off the flame, the cauldron melted.

Unfortunately, every ingredient had interactions with every other ingredient that had to be kept track of, which was the most important thing that governed the order they were to be added. No wonder inventing new potions was supposed to be so difficult.

But it all made sense in a poetic, medieval sort of way if you thought about how you might _expect_ things to work if you'd never been taught actual science. Some of the ingredients were used the way you would expect anyway: bundimun secretion was a solvent, nettles had known medicinal properties, horned slugs were a thickening agent. Yet on another level, the ingredients seemed to be almost metaphorical: live horned slugs didn't _do_ much; therefore stewed ones didn't interact much with other ingredients. Porcupine quills and snake fangs were best known for penetrating the skin; therefore, even crushed, they would help the skin absorb the final product. Blueberries grew in acidic soil; therefore they could counteract the corrosive effects of the bundimun secretion. This metaphorical dimension also probably had something to do with why some ingredients had to be prepared at a certain time of year or phase of the Moon in more advanced potions.

Hermione thought that _Magical Drafts and Potions_ did a really poor job at explaining all of this because it treated all the ingredient properties and interactions the same. That would be fine for a catalogue or reference book, but to teach the conceptual principles on potion demanded more discussion on the multiple ways in which one needed to think about the same ingredients.

One other good thing about the Potion to Cure Boils, setting it apart even from the other recipes in Chapter 1, was that it was easy to see how well it turned out from the final colour. Brewed properly, it was supposed to be a soft, soothing light blue. This allowed Snape to grade the potions on the spot when they turned in samples at the end of class—a nice touch for the the first class, Hermione thought, although she suspected Snape really did it so he could get in a few more digs at them. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle (whom Malfoy didn't allow to do any difficult work) got an Outstanding grade. Harry and Ron were graded Poor. Hermione and Dean received (grudgingly, she thought) an Exceeds Expectations, while poor Neville and Seamus got a zero for the day.

* * *

Hermione woke on Saturday morning to the excited chatter of her roommates who were happy to have a free day. "Free" was a relative term, of course, since they still had homework, but Lavender and Parvati seemed to be in the mood to put that off until tomorrow. Hermione, on the other hand, had got as much as she could done in the free period yesterday afternoon and last evening. She was looking to take a break from schoolwork herself today, but for a different reason.

"What about you, Hermione, what are you doing today?" Parvati asked her.

"Me? Oh, I just thought I'd explore the castle for a while," she said innocently.

"Oh, well be careful with that. You don't want to get lost," Lavender said. "I heard the unused parts of the castle can shift around and trap you so you can't find your way out."

"What? Where did you hear that?" Hermione said.

"The Weasley Twins told me. I mean, sure they _might_ have made it up, but I'm not about to risk it."

Parvati rolled her eyes at Lavender. "Anyway, we were going to check out the grounds this afternoon. You should come along."

"Well, maybe," Hermione said noncommittally. "I'll see how the morning goes."

Later, when she came back up from breakfast, Hermione dug out her small drafting kit and a book of graph paper. She didn't use them all that much, but they were great for geometry and would be even better for map-making. She would show everyone who said she couldn't make a map of the castle. She would just need to measure everything out.

"Sally-Anne, I was going to try to map out the castle. Do you want to, you know, come along?" she asked, before getting started.

"No, sorry, I've got a lot of homework," her fellow muggle-born said. "I don't know how you get through it so fast. It's hard not having the magical background."

"Oh…okay," she said, a little disappointed. But she wrote it off and got to work. Starting with her own dormitory, she stepped off the bedroom, the lavatory, and the spiral staircase outside the door. She was pretty sure the boys dorm was a mirror image and that the other floors were the same, so a small, quick sketch was sufficient to describe the eighth through fourteenth floors of Gryffindor Tower. She followed this up by heading down and stepping off the Common Room, prompting a few funny looks, but she quickly got that done, too, and climbed through the portrait hole into the corridor, her graph paper in hand.

The first order of business was to step off the West Wing. She looked down the long corridor that led to Ravenclaw Tower, picked one of the seams between the stones on the floor and walked along it, stepping it off heel to toe from one end to the other. It took her about five minutes to cover the whole length, but she got the measurement she wanted. Hermione's size two and a half trainers were nine and three-quarter inches long, so the one hundred seventy-two steps she marked in the corridor equalled one hundred forty feet. (Okay, a hundred thirty-nine feet and nine inches.) The second corridor, from Ravenclaw Tower to the Grand Staircase, was one hundred thirty-eight steps, or about one hundred twelve feet. So far so good.

Just to check her results, she paced off the other two corridors, up to the North Tower and back to Gryffindor Tower. But as she grew nearer to the North Tower, she grew more and more uneasy. Something didn't look right, and as she crossed the last few feet, it was obvious. This corridor was only a hundred and fifty-nine steps long. She tried the fourth corridor. One hundred forty-seven. Clearly, the West Wing wasn't a perfect rectangle.

It sure did look like it, though. She looked down at the stone floors of the corridors. The seams between the stones were perfectly straight. She took her protractor to a few of them. All the corners were right angles, or at least close enough that the lengths wouldn't be off by that much. It looked like a rectangle, but the lengths of the opposite sides were about ten feet different.

She tried measuring the entire floor again, this time pressing as close as she could to against the outer wall, all the way around the seventh floor of the West Wing. She was extra careful now to place her feet exactly in front of each other in a straight line. She got all the same numbers to within three steps.

She tried a third time, this time along the inner walls of the corridors. With the extra care she took on the last two measurements, she got the same numbers again to within one step.

It took only a few seconds of mental math to figure out that that was physically impossible. If the castle weren't a perfect rectangle, there should have been a larger difference than that between one side of the corridors and the other, no matter what the angles were. The only explanation—and because she had dabbled in the works of Lovecraft, she shuddered a little as she thought it—was that Hogwarts Castle was not built on Euclidean geometry.

Hermione Granger wasn't about to give up, though. That would certainly make mapping the castle a pain, but the differences were only about ten percent. She could just take an average length to draw it as a rectangle and then write in the actual measurements. At least she wouldn't have to be _quite_ so careful about doing it exactly right. Within a couple feet would be good enough since the castle didn't seem to want to cooperate on exact measurements anyway.

By now, almost two hours had gone by, but she figured she might as well keep on going until lunch time. She went down to the sixth floor to pace that off as well and see if it was any different. And it was a good thing she did because when she got to the south corridor, the one that had been one hundred thirty-eight steps long on the seventh floor, she found it was one hundred forty-five steps on the sixth floor. This was going to be harder than she thought.

She was pacing off the north corridor on the sixth floor when she heard more footsteps behind her.

"Well, what have we here, Fred?"

"A little firstie wandering off by herself, George. I do hope she's not lost. Good morning, Miss Granger," Fred said, as both Weasley twins stepped in front of her and started walking backwards to face her.

Hermione looked up from her feet to glance at each of them. "Hello, Fred, George," she said, trying to hide her discomfort around the notorious pranksters.

"And what are you up to on this fine morning?" George asked.

"Well…" _Oh, what could it hurt? _"I was trying to make a map of the castle. I'm trying to measure the corridors." She considered asking what _they_ were up to, but quickly decided she didn't want to know.

"A map of the castle, Fred." The twins shared a knowing look and started laughing.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing," said Fred. "It's just we've never heard of anyone making a map while _we've_ been here."

"_And_ measuring the corridors with your feet," George added. "I'd say that takes quite some dedication, wouldn't you, Fred?"

"That I would, George."

"Are you even counting your steps, Miss Granger?"

"Of course," she said. "One-twenty-one, one-twenty-two, one-twenty-three—"

"Through this entire conversation?" George asked.

"Yes."

"Without losing count?" Fred added.

She smirked in spite of herself. This proved to be a bad idea, since they took it as a challenge.

"Oh, so you wouldn't mind if we called out random numbers like—"

"One-sixty-two!"

"One-oh-five!"

"One-thirty-nine!"

"Seventy-seven!"

But she didn't even slow her pace. Hermione Granger did not _lose_ count. "One-thirty-five, one-thirty-six, one-thirty-seven…"

"I think we've been had, Gred."

"Well, Forge, we _did_ hear Alicia talking about this one. We'll have to keep on our toes around her."

"She's certainly a clever one…"

"One hundred forty-seven," she said, reaching the end of the corridor. "Hmm…that one was the same," she mused as she marked the measurement on her map.

"The same as what?" one the twins asked—she'd lost track of which now.

"The seventh floor."

They stared at her in confusion.

"The south and west corridors are different lengths on the seventh floor," she explained.

"What?" the twins said at once.

"_And_ all four sides are different from each other, even though the Quad is a rectangle."

"Is that even possible?" One of them snatched her map out of her hand and started looking over her measurements. "This can't be right. We would have noticed it on—" He stopped as the other twin coughed. "Now I _really_ think we're being set up, George."

"Indeed, Fred," George said with an evil grin. "If you're looking for a prank war, Miss Granger, we'd be happy to oblige."

"I-i-it's not a prank," Hermione said nervously, taking a step back. "Y-you can step it off for yourselves."

Fred and George looked at each other, no longer mischievously, but with genuine curiosity.

"I think this calls for investigation, brother," said Fred.

"I quite agree. If Miss Granger can discover something about the castle in a week that we haven't in two years—"

"She could be a valuable ally."

"Well, I'm not looking to prank anyone, if that's what you mean." Fred and George looked unconvinced. "May I have my map back, please? I want to try to pace off a couple more floors before lunch."

"Of course." Fred handed back her graph book.

"And good luck with your…mapping."

"Thanks…" Hermione backed away, not wanting take her eyes off the pair until she reached the staircase to go down to the fifth floor. She kept working.

The small windows that lined the Quad had no sills to speak of. She was able to poke her head out one of them and run her eye down the sheer wall. It was perfectly straight. She tied an eraser from her drafting kit to a string to make a plumb bob to check the walls. She tried it on both the fifth floor and back up on the seventh floor. All the walls were vertical. From those two facts, every floor of the West Wing should have been exactly the same shape and _size_. And yet, not only were the measurements different on each floor, but the perimeter of each floor she paced off was about ten feet larger than the floor above.

It was while she was stepping off the fourth floor, trying to get around it quickly to avoid going too far into the lunch hour, that another unwanted attendant spotted her. Hermione tried to ignore the scraggly-looking tabby as it meowed menacingly at her. She momentarily thought she had dodged a bullet when Mrs. Norris ran away, but, somehow, just a few seconds later, Argus Filch came around the corner. Hermione's only direct run-in with the Caretaker, at the third-floor corridor on Wednesday, had not been pleasant, and most of what she'd heard from the other students was worse.

"You, there, what are you doing?" Filch wheezed.

The direct approach was probably best here. "I'm measuring the corridors, sir."

"I can see that. What are you up to? Aiming fireworks? Spreading Slipping Solution? Planting those infernal Ricochet Balls?"

"N-no, sir, I'm just trying to map the castle." And she held up her graph paper to show him.

"Mapping the castle? Mapping the castle?" Filch said suspiciously. "Oh no you don't. I found the Weasley Twins doing the same thing up on the sixth floor. You're definitely up to something. What is it? Searching for more secret passages? I won't allow it."

"Please, Mr. Filch, I'm not breaking any rules. I'm just trying to learn to find my way around. I only told Fred and George that the measurements are different on every floor. I didn't ask what they were doing."

"Measurements are different—" Filch's mind apparently needed a moment to switch gears on that one. "Well of course they are!" he complained. "What did you expect with as much magic as there is around this place?"

"Please, sir, I've only known about magic for a few weeks."

"Well, best learn to stay away from those two," Filch said. "Nothing but trouble from the start. Deserve a few days strung up by their ankles if you ask me…Well, then, go on. Finish what you're doing and get on to lunch," he said, apparently conceding that he had nothing on her.

"Um…yes, sir."

Filch walked away, muttering to himself, "Students wandering about like they own the place. Ought to stay in their Common Rooms where they belong…"

Hermione finished pacing off the fourth floor as quickly as she could and dashed down the stairs to the Great Hall, barely remembering to jump the vanishing step. _That_ was a health and safety hazard, alright. She didn't understand why they couldn't patch it up. In any case, Filch may have had nothing on her, but he certainly wasn't nice to talk to. She felt much better when she was out of his sight.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The time derivative of Harry Potter is JK Rowling's writing habits.

Parts of this chapter have been quoted from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

A/N: Yes, I know there's a lot of quoted material in this chapter. So far, Hermione's different behaviour hasn't spilt over much into the rest of the story, and this chapter is more of a reaction shot. But don't worry; things will start to really start to diverge in the next chapter, probably with no more quoted material from now on.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Hermione wandered around the grounds with her roommates for a little while that afternoon, but she was distracted the entire time. She had a hard time focusing on her work that evening, too. She looked around at the castle walls and started questioning everything, started trying to measure everything in her head.

The thing that everyone kept telling her kept echoing in her mind: "The castle changes too much to make a map."

She waited till the next morning to test it. She guessed it would need at least that long. But she awoke early on Sunday, unable to wait any longer, and started repeating the work she had done the day before.

She started by pacing off her dorm room again and was relieved to find it was the same to within her margin of error, but that was the last reassuring bit of information she would get. She had only first bothered to count the steps up from the Common Room to her dorm until last night. There didn't seem to be any need before. But now, she counted them again going back down, and found that if she'd counted correctly (and when didn't she?), the spiral staircase was two steps taller.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hermione left through the portrait hole and began pacing off the east corridor, the one from Gryffindor Tower to Ravenclaw Tower. It was supposed to be one hundred seventy-two steps long. She had measured it three times yesterday; it was one hundred seventy-two steps long.

Today, it was one hundred sixty-six.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

Well that did it. She as well and truly through the looking-glass. Hogwarts Castle not only changed shape and size from floor to floor, but also from day to day. No map of the castle would ever be more accurate than about ten percent, because it wouldn't _stay put_ like any sensible building, and she had a sneaking suspicion that her dorm room would eventually change, too, when she wasn't looking. She supposed she could try to measure the outer dimensions of the castle, but she doubted that would work any better.

The one good thing about it was that she wouldn't have to _measure_ the place more accurately than ten percent either. She took a couple minutes to step off the corridor at her normal walking pace to figure out the conversion. That would easily be accurate enough, and it was about four times faster. Even so, it was with an exasperated sigh that she finally sat down in the Great Hall for breakfast.

It didn't help that she had barely started eating when a pair of redheads sat down on either side of her.

"We commend you, Miss Granger," they said in unison.

"Huh?" Hermione answered lamely.

"Your measurements of the castle," the one on her left said.

"You were quite right." the one on her right continued.

"The floors don't line up at all."

"Oh, yeah, that," she said in annoyance.

"We didn't think _anyone_ knew the castle better than us, did we, George?"

"No, indeed, Fred. Not even Filch. How ever did you do it, Miss Granger?"

"I just asked a question that nobody else bothered with," Hermione said, hoping she could get rid of the two troublemakers quickly. "Everyone else said the castle kept changing, so they never tried—Unfortunately, they were right. The measurements were different this morning."

The twins stared at each other to digest this information.

"Learn something new every day, don't we?"

"It seems we do. So, if you don't mind our asking, how do you intend to complete your map?"

"Well, I guess I'll just have to draw it approximately. I don't have time to measure everything three times and take an average. It won't be an architectural drawing, but I'll at least be able to find my way around."

Fred and George grinned to hear that she would be keeping up her exploration efforts. "Well, best of luck to you then," Fred said.

"Please let us know if you make any more discoveries," George added.

"And if you should find yourself in need of a favour—"

"Such as if a certain Slytherin git needs a good pranking—"

"We would be delighted to assist you."

"Of course, we might do _that_ anyway."

"Thanks, I'll…keep that in mind," she said nervously.

"Pleasure doing business with you," they replied together. Unfortunately for her, they stayed right where they were and got back to eating, but thankfully their brother, Ron, showed up and got them into a conversation about Quidditch. Hermione just tuned them out. She had some Transfiguration to finish and a letter home to worry about. She also wanted to finish some sketches she had started. She wasn't much of an artist, but geometrically defined architectural features she could handle. She decided she'd had enough of the exploring bit for one weekend.

Well, she did step off that east corridor on the seventh floor one more time that afternoon. Sure enough, it was about a foot and a half different. That meant that the corridors apparently changed smoothly over the course of the day rather than just overnight or at midnight or something. That was some good news. At least she wouldn't have to worry about the floors suddenly shifting under her feet. In some ways, it seemed like the castle was _breathing_. It would just be nice if it could breath in Euclidean spacetime.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thank you so much for the sketches of your dorm room and common room. It looks like you have a very nice place to live. Be sure to send us some of the rest of the castle when you get the time. That sounds pretty strange about the castle having non-Euclidean geometry. Your father didn't think even magic could do that. He says to try not to fall into any obtuse angles._

_We're very glad you've found a good study group and got to know some of your classmates. We were worried your letters would wind up being all about classes. If you've found some people who are really willing to share the work like that, be sure to stick with them. Friends like that are hard to find. That Harry Potter boy sounds nice, too, and he was raised in our world, so you have something in common._

_About Professor Snape, it sounds like he's a pretty lousy teacher from what you wrote us. He shouldn't be allowed to behave like that. In our world, he be sacked if he was like that all the time, even if he had tenure. Unfortunately, we don't think there's much we can do to help. The magical world seems to be pretty self-contained. The best chance you have is to talk to Professor McGonagall, and if she won't do anything, Professor Dumbledore. In the meantime, just keep trying your best. It sounds like you're learning the subject better than the book taught it, at least, and doing well enough that he has to give you a good grade, so you should be okay for now._

_Keep up the good work, and stay out of trouble._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

* * *

She settled into her routine better in the second week. The classes were challenging in ways she had never imagined either school or magic could be, but she was doing well in them. She could find her way to all her classes now, too, though that in no way reduced her desire to map out the rest of the castle.

But she groaned when she saw the notice posted in the Gryffindor Common Room that night: Flying Lessons start on Thursday…with the Slytherins. Hermione was not athletic or even all that coordinated. She could calculate angles in her head faster than anyone, but that never seemed to translate into prowess with a tennis racket or a billiards cue. And doing anything athletic in the air would only make things worse. She was okay on a bicycle, but roller coasters always made her a bit queasy, and those even had three-point restraints.

She made a beeline for the library before curfew and found a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. She skimmed over the bulk of the material on Quidditch itself (not the best-designed game, she thought) and focused on a rather well-written section containing basic flying tips. With a few exceptions, most kids who were raised in the magical world had been on a broom at least a couple times, so Hermione had some catching up to do. On Thursday morning, she shared the tips she had learnt with Sally-Anne and Neville Longbottom, both of whom had also never been on a broom. Neville was even more frightened of flying than she was—unsurprisingly, given his unfortunate clumsiness. However, everyone else at the table seemed to be tuning her out.

_At three thirty that afternoon, the Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance. The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground._

_Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk._

"_Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."_

Hermione had seen photographs and illustrations on broomsticks in _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and looked at the school brooms with dismay. She had heard the Weasley Twins complain about how these brooms never flew straight, and she wasn't surprised. The school brooms weren't even standardised. There were forty-year-old Cleansweeps and Comets, Shooting Stars, and some that were clearly off-brands. They all had bent twigs and scratched handles, neither of which boded well for their performance, but she supposed they would be safe enough for the low-intensity lessons they would be having—almost like training wheels, she thought.

"_Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"_

"_UP!" everyone shouted._

Hermione's broom twitched and rolled over. On her left, Neville's hadn't moved at all, but on her right, Harry Potter's broom leapt directly into his hand, as had a couple of others, including Draco Malfoy's. Evidently, most magical children didn't learn that part early.

Hermione was sure she could do better than that. This was like casting a spell, wasn't it? Except the broom had a rather more limited repertoire than a wand. She focused on the feeling of flowing energy that she always felt with her wand and tried to reach out to the broom with it.

"UP!" she shouted again. The broom leapt off the ground, through she had to scramble to catch it. Most of the students got their brooms to rise after a few tries, but Neville had to pick his up by hand.

"Now," said Madam Hooch, "hold your broom up on your right, like so, and put your right leg over it—near the back, right in front of the bristles. You'll be able to feel the cushioning charms. Don't sit any farther forward, or you'll slide off the end."

That made sense, Hermione thought. It was just like mounting a bicycle. The cushioning charm even felt like a bicycle seat. And she could tell at once that its position just in front of the bristles was at the broom's centre of gravity—the only place one would be able to stay balanced on it.

"Good, good," Madam Hooch continued. "Grip the middle of the handle, right hand in front, thumbs pointed down—no, Mr. Malfoy, thumbs pointed down."

"Madam Hooch, I've been riding a broom for years—"

"Then you've been riding it wrong for years. Thumbs pointed _down_," she repeated. Some of the others snickered at the arrogant boy.

Hermione twisted her wrists to point her thumbs toward the ground. Her first instinct had been to hold the broom with her thumbs on top of the handle, like Malfoy did, but she immediately realised that the correct grip gave her better control of where the broom was pointed and would help her to lean with it. It was little uncomfortable having to lean forward to hold it properly, but broomsticks at least didn't seem like a completely unreasonable way to fly anymore.

"_Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—" _

_But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. _

"_Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. _Hermione watched in horror as she saw him lose his grip in terror and slip sideways, scrambling to stay on, finally toppling off completely and falling to the ground with a horrific thud. He lay face down in a heap on the grass.

Her heart was pounding as Madam Hooch, looking equally horrified, rushed over to help him. But amazingly, Neville staggered to he feet, crying and clutching his wrist, but still able to walk.

"_None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."_

_Neville, his face tear streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him._

Hermione sighed with relief. She was sure it would have been worse after seeing that fall. She had heard before of people falling from high buildings and bridges and walking away when they shouldn't have—when they should have died, even—but they were the rare exception. Oddly, many of those people tended to be drunk. Perhaps it was that they couldn't brace themselves properly in that state and just let their limbs absorb the impact. She also knew that witches and wizards were built a bit tougher than muggles, but even so, Neville was extremely lucky to come away from that fall with only a broken wrist.

And then that awful git Malfoy and his goons had to go and make fun of him. Honestly, what kind of people thought falling three stories and breaking a wrist was funny for anyone? Plus, to add insult to literal injury, Malfoy took the boy's gift he had got from his grandmother that morning.

"_Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch._

_Malfoy smiled nastily._

"_I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"_

"_Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"_

_Harry grabbed his broom._

Hermione snapped out of her shock. Malfoy had just taken to the air! After what Madam Hooch said—and Harry was about to follow him! "_No! Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble."_

But Harry ignored her. Quick as a flash, he mounted his broom and followed Malfoy across the Training Grounds. And fast. He was flying as well as Malfoy, like he'd been doing it for years. Was there somehow a natural athlete hidden under that skinny frame? She was horrified when he lunged at Malfoy as if they were jousting, but the other boy dodged. That idiot Ron was _applauding_—and he wasn't the only one!

Then suddenly, Malfoy threw the Remembrall high into the air and circled back down to the grass. And Harry tried to catch it!

Hermione screamed. Harry Potter was in free fall, if not, indeed, diving faster than gravity from at least fifty feet up. Was he even looking where he was going? Luck nor magic wouldn't save him from that. She was sure he was about to crash and die before her eyes. But then, miraculously, he pulled up, just feet from the ground—pulled up so hard that she thought he would break his tailbone until she remembered the cushioning charms on the brooms. And as he pulled up, he leaned over and snatched the Remembrall out of the air, finally tumbling gently onto the grass, apparently unharmed.

"_HARRY POTTER!"_ She turned to see Professor McGonagall storming across the Training Grounds on a holy tear. "Never—_in all my time at Hogwarts—how _dare _you—might have broken your neck—"_

"_It wasn't his fault, Professor—"_

"_Be quiet, Miss Patil."_

"_But Malfoy—"_

"_That's _enough_, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."_

Hermione stood frozen in terror, hands trembling, unable to speak. Raised by muggles or not, that was still the famous Boy-Who-Lived who had just very nearly died and was now sure to be expelled from Hogwarts—and rather deserved it, for that matter. Just what kind of place _was_ the magical world after all? Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked triumphant, smugly lording their victory over the Gryffindors. A couple of the Slytherins looked uneasy about this development, but most of them went along with the trio.

The Gryffindors got the last laugh, though, when Madam Hooch came back out, glaring at Malfoy. She benched him for the rest of the lesson, gave him a detention, and took ten points from Slytherin. Sure, he wasn't out of Hogwarts faster than he could say "Quidditch", but it was still worth it to see the git wilt under those hawkish eyes.

"Now _that's_ settled, we still have some time for the lesson," she told the rest of the class. When I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard. Hover at a few feet, and then lean forward slightly to descend. Ready? Three—two—one—"

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and Hermione kicked off the ground and rose into the air. She was wobbly, like when she'd first learnt to ride a bike, but she was hovering successfully. Some of the others laughed or whooped with joy to be in the air, but she was less enthusiastic. When she nervously tilted the handle forward, the broom gently settled back down to the ground.

Madam Hooch led them through the basics of manoeuvring: speed up, slow down, left, right, up, and down, all at very low speeds. Hermione was competent, despite the substandard broom, but she knew she would never be able to match the native skill Harry had shown. Indeed, most the class could fly circles around her. She would be happy if she could just share their joy at flying with the birds by the end of the semester.

* * *

She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or angry when she saw Harry was still there at dinner, but when she learnt from the whispered rumours that he had been made seeker on the house Quidditch team, she decided to go with angry. How could that boy break the rules so blatantly and be rewarded for it? A part of her wanted to blame his fame, but she'd seen well enough that Harry Potter didn't really care about his fame, and, apparently, he really _was_ that good at flying.

And then, of course, Malfoy had to come around and get in a few more digs at him. Hermione honestly wasn't sure who to be angrier with as she watched the pair from the corner of her eye over her dinner.

"_Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the muggles?"_

"_You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl._

"_I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"_

What? He wasn't serious, was he?

"_Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"_

_Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up._

"_Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."_

What! Trust a Weasley to make things worse. Harry had barely got out of being expelled once today. Now he was going to try and break curfew, too? That was enough. She stood up and headed toward them.

"_What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"_

"_Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually. "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."_

"_And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"_

"_Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested._

Which was against Malfoy's no-contact challenge, but that was beside the point. "Excuse me," she said, doing her best to sound concerned and helpful. She didn't think she was succeeding.

"_Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron._

_Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry._

"_I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"_

"_Bet you could," Ron muttered._

"—_and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."_

"_And it's really none of your business," said Harry._

"_Good-bye," said Ron._

That probably wasn't her most persuasive argument, but she couldn't think of any better hold to use on the pair just now. A duel would be dangerous, of course, and she suspected Malfoy knew more curses than Ron and Harry put together—could probably _cast_ more curses than Hermione herself, if the rumours were true, but after seeing Harry risk his life on that broom, she didn't think that would convince him any better. And it seemed he just couldn't resist showing up Malfoy.

Well, there was more than one way to handle this. She loaded up on her homework that evening and stayed up late in the Common Room, resolving to work until midnight so she could stop those two before they caused any trouble. She strongly considered telling Percy, who seemed to be the lone responsible brother in the Weasley family, but going the tattle-tale route wouldn't win her any favours, and she felt like she would be on thin ice with Fred and George if she stepped too far out of whatever passed for their line.

It was getting late—half past eleven, now. She had run up and changed into her sleepwear and bathrobe an hour ago. She heard footsteps from the stairs and quickly turned off her lamp so they wouldn't spot her too early and escape. The two boys were nearly at the portrait hole beside her when she flipped the lamp back on.

"_I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."_

"_You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"_

"_I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy—he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."_

"Come on," Harry told his friend with a scowl, climbing out through the portrait hole. She could tell he was mad at her for interfering, but she wasn't about to give up. She was fed up with all this nonsense. This rivalry of Harry's was only going to get someone hurt—probably himself. Without thinking, she climbed through the hole and kept talking—okay, maybe yelling.

"_Don't you _care _about Gryffindor, do you _only _care about yourselves, _I _don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."_

"_Go away."_

"_All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so—"_

Hermione turned around and froze in horror. The portrait of the Fat Lady was empty. The Fat Lady must have gone visiting, which she would have admitted was completely within her rights since _no one was supposed to be out in the corridors at this hour_, but at the moment, she was preoccupied with more pressing matters.

Like the fact that she was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

After curfew!

With a couple of self-centred idiots!

"Now what am I going to do?" she shouted before realising that shouting was probably a bad idea right now.

"Not our problem," Ron said. "Come on, Harry, we're gonna be late." They started walking away.

_Oh, no they don't,_ Hermione thought. The only reason _she_ was out after curfew was because _they _were out after curfew, and if she was going to get caught, she had better be with those two to give her excuse, no matter how much Ron protested. She started following them. It took a real effort not to smack her forehead when they had to pick up Neville, too, who had forgotten the password. And Ron was worried about her and Neville getting them caught. Lovely. Was _everyone _in this castle completely nuts?

They made it to the trophy room without incident, but Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet—and didn't show up by what Hermione was sure was well past midnight. Of course she realised, it was an obvious trap to get Harry in trouble. Why hadn't she seen that before? She was just about to chastise Harry and Ron with this deduction when her blood ran cold at the sound of the last voice she wanted to hear right now.

"_Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."_

It was Filch and that horrible cat of his. Harry at least had the right idea: try to sneak away quietly. Unfortunately, Neville's clumsiness had them toppling over a suit of armour with a deafening clatter.

They ran. Forget who started it, now. Hermione was only worried about not getting caught. They ran down one corridor and then another and then found themselves in a hidden passage that let out onto an open air bridge that she hadn't had cause to use before, then into the corridors of the West Wing. Then she barely had time to catch her breath and inform Harry of his blunder in all this before they were ratted out by Peeves, the poltergeist, and they had to run again—straight into a locked door.

"_This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts._

Most of the locked doors in the castle Hermione was pretty sure would open with a simple Unlocking Charm like the one the _rest_ of the class would catch up with in the spring. At this point she'd take breaking another rule or two to keep out of Filch's clutches. (God, what was happening to her?) But, no, she'd forgotten her wand in the tower! How could she get in now?

Wait a minute—Harry was coming here for a _duel_, wasn't he? Using someone else's wand was tricky, but if she could put enough power through it—

"_Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora!"_

_The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening._

But Hermione didn't hear what was being said. She didn't hear anything just now, since she saw movement in the corner of her eye, and when she turned to look, she promptly froze stiff.

She'd got turned around with all that running. (Oh, _why_ hadn't she spent more time on her map?) But when she looked now, she instantly knew where they were, and why no one had been using the Stone Bridge on the third floor.

They were in the forbidden third floor corridor. The one that contained "a very painful death", and Hermione knew now that Dumbledore hadn't been exaggerating.

There was a dog in the corridor.

It was ten feet tall.

It had three heads.

_It had three heads!_

The sight of those three heads would haunt her dreams forever if she lived through this: _three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs._

The dog came to its senses upon seeing them in its corridor and started growling at them. They were all going to die, she thought. They were at the gates of the Underworld—it was right through that trap door under the feet of Cerberus, the dreaded hell-hound of Hades—and they were all going to die.

And then—thank Jehovah or Zeus or Merlin or whoever, she didn't much care right now—she fell backwards.

Harry had opened the door.

They ran again, not even looking to see if Filch was chasing them. They ran and didn't stop, even while climbing up four flights of stairs, until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and dove into the Gryffindor Common Room, where they lay on the couches and the floor a while until they could speak again.

"_What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."_

Could he really be that thick? Hermione wondered. She'd sunk into a mythology-fuelled hysteria, and she'd still spotted it right away. "_You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on."_

"_The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."_

"_No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."_

_She stood up, glaring at them._

"_I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."_

She trudged up the seven flights to her bedroom, not waiting around to see if any of the boys had any bright ideas about what the dog was guarding, or worse, going back to find out. While she could agree with Ron about the madness of keeping that monstrosity in a school, that was about the only intelligent thing that any of those three had said all night.

She was all the way into bed before it hit her: "Or worse, expelled?" she whispered. "Good Lord, I really am losing it!"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Stir seven times clockwise for each JK Rowling added to the solution. Do not forget to include her copyright to Harry Potter.

A/N: I would like to remind the reader that nearly all of Professor Trelawney's predictions in canon came true, but almost never in the way anyone expected. Take from that what you will. Yes, Hermione's ruling planet really is Mercury, which is associated with intelligence and quick thinking, whether that matters in practice or not.

In addition to my regular updates, I have posted a new one-shot, _His Mother's Love_, on my profile.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Hermione went down to breakfast the next morning tired and, if she were honest, more than a little cranky. How could she sleep after coming face to faces with that dog? The only good thing about the whole ordeal was the look on Draco Malfoy's face when he saw that Harry and Ron were still there, and even that was tempered by the fact that those two now seemed to think it had been a great adventure.

Harry tried to tell Hermione about a little package that Hagrid had moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts and that he thought that's what the dog was guarding, but she didn't want to hear it. In fact, she picked up her plate and moved a few seats down. She was going to stay far away from those two nutters from now on, as they were sure to cause more trouble sooner or later.

At least Dean Thomas was more or less normal. He even liked normal sports, like football. They had Potions again this morning, and Hermione hoped she could still keep her head in that class after last night.

Today's Potions "lesson" was to brew the simplest of the various kinds of Awakening Potions, something she could use some of herself to start with. She was a little distracted, and she knew it, which didn't bode well either. She wanted to keep an eye on Neville and Seamus in case they blew something up again, and keep and eye on Harry and Ron in case _they_ tried something, all while doing a good job with her own potion.

"Awakening Potion, huh?" Dean said as Hermione started the burner. "I thought we already had that. It's called coffee." Fortunately, Snape either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore it.

"Boil one small, greened potato for fifteen minutes," Lavender read the first instruction. (Because the greened potato had sprouted _eyes_, of course.) "_Why_ are we cooking lunch here?"

"Because greened potatoes are poisonous, and the heat neutralises the poison," Hermione explained, happy to see there were a few things muggles knew better than wizards about potioning.

Potions wasn't all that difficult in practical terms, Hermione decided, but she was quickly finding that it was her most _conceptually_ challenging class, and the essays Snape assigned for homework bore that out. She had a pretty good idea of why each ingredient was included and some idea of the reasons for the order and the manner of preparation, but most of the stirring patterns still mystified her.

There were a few obvious reasons for the stirring patterns. In practical terms, stirring the potion more would result in more even heating of the liquid. Alternating clockwise and anticlockwise stirs would create turbulence and mix the ingredients faster, while keeping in the same direction would mix them slower. The _number _of stirs was harder, although there were clear numerological elements to it: many of the instructions said to stir seven times, or for seven minutes, or a multiple of seven. She could even understand the general principle of clockwise versus anticlockwise. In the old days, anticlockwise—that is, anti-sun-wise—was considered "unlucky". So it made sense that one usually needed to stir clockwise for "positive" effects and anticlockwise for "negative" effects.

But that didn't explain all of the switching off between the two, like alternating three times clockwise with once anticlockwise. Or the straight back-and-forth stirs that they needed to do at one step. Or some of the more advanced potions in the book that required stirring in more complicated figure-eights or trefoils or star shapes. Hermione didn't have a clue what the arithmantic foundations of those were, if they were arithmantic at all, though she wondered whether even fancier patterns like Lissajous curves and hypotrochoids would have any interesting effects.

Still, just following the instructions shouldn't be that hard. They had just got done adding the sunflower petals (which, predictably, made the potion briefly glow the colour of sunlight) and moved on to the dwarf bamboo leaves when they started to notice their potion was a little off.

"Hold on, is that supposed to happen?" Hermione said after adding the leaves. The potion was much more faintly, but distinctly, glowing like sunlight.

Dean checked the book. "It doesn't say anything about glowing at this step."

"Then I wonder why—"

She was interrupted by a blinding flash followed by the sounds of people stumbling and a lot of cursing. She looked around for the source of the trouble, but she could only see spots in front of her eyes. When she could see again, she looked around to find Neville and Seamus, looking very embarrassed in front of a cauldron whose contents seemed to have caught fire.

"Imbeciles!" Snape snapped at them as he drew his wand and dispelled the flames. "The instructions clearly state to add two preparations of sunflower petals, not three. You could have blinded someone with a stunt like that. Two points from Gryffindor."

"The sunflower petals!" Hermione whispered to Dean. "But we only added two preparations, didn't we?"

"Yeah, just the two. What do you think happened."

"I'm not sure. Just a moment…" Hermione pulled out _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ to look up the ingredients. She hummed to herself as she found the correct page. "There. Dwarf bamboo can grow in very low light and is extremely sensitive to sunlight. Of course, did you see how bright that flash was? The potion must be a lot more sensitive to the sunflower petals after adding the dwarf bamboo leaves. And that means…" She grabbed a scraper from the preparation kit and scraped it across the cutting board. Sure enough, when she pulled it away, there was a bit of yellow residue on the blade.

"Oh," Dean made the connection. "The leaves were contaminated with residue from the sunflowers."

"Exactly. We saw it doesn't take much. We should have cleaned off the cutting board," she said with annoyance. "Now, we'll only get an E at best."

"Is there any way to fix it?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. She was sure there would be—another dash of dwarf bamboo or an extra stir somewhere—but even the simplest modifications to potions were third year material, and most were higher than that. She wasn't about to risk trying to guess it. "Not that we could do now. We'll have to finish it as is and be more careful about cleaning everything next time." And she wrote in her notes to do just that. They added the blueberries to seal the potion and turned in their sample along with the rest of the class.

* * *

The weekend passed quickly for Hermione. She started expanding her map, with her first priority being to pace off the whole non-forbidden part of the third floor so that she could be sure not to run into that awful dog again. She also took the time to pace off some of the classrooms and was annoyed, though unsurprised, to find that their combined length was slightly longer than the length of the corridor they ran alongside.

Between that, working on her homework, trying to avoid Harry Potter and all of the Weasleys, and venting her frustrations in a letter to her parents (mostly definitely _not_ mentioning that dog—she'd rather not deliberately keep it from them, but you couldn't just go and say something like that), it took up most of her time that weekend, and before she knew it, she was back in her Monday classes—not that she minded, of course. She _was_ Hermione Granger, after all.

The following Thursday was her birthday, but she wasn't expecting any special recognition, mostly because she hadn't got around to telling anybody about it. It seemed like a terribly awkward thing to slip into a conversation if one wasn't directly asked. It didn't improve her mood when she saw a team of six owls drop a large, suspiciously-broomstick-shaped package in front of Harry Potter, but, of course, she was happy to see an owl head toward her that morning with a package from her parents.

"Oh, today's your birthday?" Parvati said when she saw the colourfully-wrapped parcel. Hermione had been trying to stick close to Parvati and Lavender to avoid the boys, even though they rarely had much to talk about.

"Uh huh."

"Hermione, why didn't you tell us? Happy birthday!"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Thanks—It just never came up." She unwrapped her package to find it was actually two presents. The first was a surprisingly large box of biscuits, and the second was a round, thick piece of plastic marked over with constellations. "Oh, wow, that's a really nice planisphere," she said.

"A what?" asked Lavender.

"A plainsphere. Muggle astronomers use it. It's like a cross between an astrolabe and a star chart—for Astronomy Class," Hermione answered. "You see, you set the time and date like this…and it shows you the right star chart."

"Wow, that's really cool. I didn't know they'd come up with something like that."

Hermione nodded and opened the attached letter:

_Happy Birthday Hermione,_

_We don't know if this will get to you on Monday or Thursday. We addressed it to be delivered on Thursday, but we don't know if Hogwarts will hold packages like that. Either way, have a great birthday. We thought your classmates might like to try a sample of our muggle desserts, so we sent enough biscuits for you to share, and we know you were complaining about having to use astrolabes, so your father found a nice planisphere to help with your studies._

_We're sorry to hear some of your classmates are causing trouble. We're a little surprised about that Harry Potter. You wrote before that he didn't seem to let his fame go to his head. Anyway, it's probably best if you avoid those two when you can. And we're glad you didn't get in trouble, but you need to be more careful about getting locked out of your dorm._

_We hope your study group and your roommates will make better friends, though. You haven't told us much about them. Can you tell us what they're like? How they grew up? You probably know a lot more than we do about wizard families by now._

_Most everything's the same as always down here. We miss you, of course. Everyone asks us what you're up to, and we have to get a little creative with the answers. But we're so proud that you're doing just as well at magic as in muggle classes. Keep up the good work._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

She put the letter down, a little ashamed that she _hadn't_ got to know the people around her better. Between schoolwork and trying to avoid certain people, she hadn't put much effort into getting close to any others. Plus, small talk had never been her strong suit, and being raised in a different culture didn't make things any easier. Although for that day, she learnt, sharing the muggle biscuits did help some.

* * *

The following Saturday, she went back to pacing off the West Wing, spending the morning heading down from the part she had explored before: third floor, second floor, first floor, ground floor. She paced off the Great Hall and the Entrance Hall before finding the door that lead down to the dungeons. And that's when the trouble started.

The above-ground part of the castle was straightforward enough, if a bit peculiar, but the below-ground part was a labyrinth. Dark, old corridors cut through the cold stone seemingly at random, lined with storage rooms and unused classrooms and apartments and actual dungeon cells that probably hadn't been occupied in centuries. The place seemed to be constantly lit as if it were late at night and carried such a heavy air of creepiness that she wondered if it might have been intended to scare off non-Slytherins.

She wasn't too worried about the labyrinth itself. She _was_ making a map, after all. And if she did get lost, she could always brute force it by only turning right until she got back to where she came in. No, the corridors weren't the problem. It was the people. She knew the dungeons were mostly the Slytherins' domain. She had been hoping to not meet any more people on her explorations so that she wouldn't have to explain what she was doing—again—but it was not to be. As she went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the school, she heard a voice call out behind her—quite possibly the voice she was least hoping to hear.

"Granger! What are you doing here?" It was Draco Malfoy. She kept pacing. "I know it's you! I'd know that ridiculous bushy hair anywhere. Look at me when I'm talking to you, Granger."

Hermione slowly turned around, clutching her sketchbook tight to her chest, trying to reach for her wand without being too conspicuous about it. She hadn't forgotten the rumours about Malfoy being practised with a few choice curses. He was _not_ someone she wanted to meet in a dark corridor—which was exactly what she was doing.

"So _that's_ what you're up to," he said triumphantly. "Snooping around trying to find our Common Room?"

She tried to keep her voice even: "No, Malfoy, I was just—"

"Oh, I know what you _say_ you're doing," he sneered. "Everyone's laughing about it. The little buck-toothed muggle-born girl thinks she's going to make a map of the castle. As if anyone can do that."

"I c-can," she defended herself. "It's not quite to scale, b-but—" Everyone was laughing about it?

Malfoy slowly stalked closer to her. She started backing away. "You'd better learn your place, Granger. Bad things happen to people who don't."

"P-please," she stammered. "This is a p-public area. I'm just trying to learn m-my way around."

He came right up to her, now. "Well, then, let's see what you've been working on, if you're not causing any trouble." He grabbed the top of her notebook and tried to pry it from her grasp.

"No!" She pulled it back affording him only a glimpse of the map she was making of the dungeon. He grabbed it again.

"Give—it—here!" Malfoy spat. He yanked it out of her hands and inspected it. "A-_ha!_" he gloated. "I think I'll just take care of this for you." He ripped the map of the dungeon off the pad and started to crumple it up in one hand.

"No!" she yelled again, lunging to try to get it back. There was a flurry of swinging arms as Malfoy tried to smack her away and Hermione tried to block him. By accident, she happened to land a decent slap on his face, which distracted him long enough for her to grab both her notebook and the loose page and run away.

Unfortunately, Malfoy didn't take kindly to that. "You'll pay for that, mudblood!" he shouted. "_Locomotor Wibbly!_"

At instant later, Hermione felt her legs collapse out from under her, and she went sprawling painfully on the floor.

Malfoy strolled up to her, smirking to himself, undoubtedly with his wand at the ready. Hermione Granger wasn't a fighter. She'd dealt with a few bullies in her time, but it was mostly by ignoring them. She certainly wasn't used to them hexing her in the back. She wasn't one to break rules in general, much less get into an actual fight, but the sound of the boy standing over her, laughing almost leeringly at her prone form, awoke something new in her—a visceral anger mingled with a desperate need for escape. If this boy was going to start breaking the rules and hexing her in the corridor, then maybe it was time she fought back. She didn't know many strong spells yet that she was certain she could cast just now, but she could at least shoot sparks at him. She got hold of her wand and clutched it tight in her hand. She'd only get one shot, but if she could hit him in the face…

"Hey! What's going on down here?"

Hermione looked up to see an older boy heading toward them from around the corner ahead, and thanked God when she saw he wore yellow-trimmed robes and a prefect's badge. Her thoughts of hexing Malfoy back were completely forgotten.

Malfoy stopped. "What are you doing here, Truman?" he said with unmasked annoyance.

"Hufflepuffs use this level, too," the prefect said. "Now what's going on here, Mr. Malfoy?"

The younger boy grumbled a bit and then answered, "Miss Granger tripped. I was just helping her."

She staggered to her feet and spun around to face him. "You were not! You—" But she stopped when she saw the hatred in his eyes. And she remembered her mother's advice: "Just ignore them, and they'll move on." She hung her head and turned around. "Thank you," she muttered to the prefect.

"I'll help you find your way out of here, Miss Granger," Truman said. "Stay out of trouble, Mr. Malfoy."

The prefect led her out by way of the corridors near the Hufflepuff dorms, eventually coming out at the below-ground part of the Grand Staircase. Even in her dejected state, Hermione kept count of her footsteps so that she could recreate this path on her map afterwards. She would consider whether to risk the dungeons again some other time. She wished things wouldn't be so divisive around here, especially around lines of blood status, but she supposed there were prejudices and rivalries in every school.

The one thing that confused her in this, though, was what Malfoy had called her—"mudblood". She'd heard people talking about purebloods and half-bloods, so it wasn't hard to guess the meaning, but she'd never heard that word before. And somehow, it didn't seem like the kind of thing to bring up just now with the prefect. She filed it away to look up in the library later. It was bad enough that Malfoy had just taken her down like that. She at least wanted to know how offended she should be.

* * *

To round out the morning (and to get her mind off the dungeons), she decided to start in on the other towers in the West Wing. She couldn't get into Ravenclaw Tower, and the Grand Staircase would be a whole morning to try to navigate by itself, so she found herself climbing up higher and higher in the North Tower, wondering what was even up there if it wasn't dorms, since most of the staff apartments were either in the main part of the West Wing or off the Grand Staircase.

She was glad she'd already mapped out the rest of the West Wing. Even in something as simple as a rectangle, all the hidden doors and moving staircases made it tricky to find her way to the North Tower, and the tower itself climbed all backwards-like, like Cirith Ungol, with no real rhyme or reason. And then a painting of a little knight who couldn't swing a sword straight started shouting challenges at her until she explained that she was on a "quest" to explore the entire castle.

Finally, she came to a landing that from the count of the stairs was probably two floors below the top of the tower, and the staircase ended. At first, she thought there was nothing up here, but she happened to look at the the ceiling. There was a circular trapdoor there with a brass plaque on it like the ones the rest of the professors had on their office doors. It read, "Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher."

"This is an _office_?" Hermione mused. "I wonder how you get up there."

The trapdoor swung open, and a silver ladder descended to the floor.

"You ask it. Of _course_ you do." She shrugged her shoulders, tucked her sketchbook under her arm, and climbed up the ladder.

She arrived at the top and found not an office, but what had to be a classroom, though it looked more like an abandoned tea shop. It was stiflingly hot, the air was thick with perfume and incense, and the entire room was dim and lit with red. Twenty-three little tables were squeezed into the room with twice as many chintz armchairs and matching pouf ottomans, so that there was barely room to turn around.

"Oh my…hello, what are you doing up here," said a soft, ethereal-sounding, thickly-accented voice. A tall, spindly woman climbed down another ladder from above. Hermione thought the woman looked and sounded like a stereotypical eastern European fortune teller—crossed with a dressed-up praying mantis. She had frizzy dirty-blond hair that stuck out everywhere even more than Hermione's own. She wore a spangled shawl and excessive amounts of costume jewelry and glasses so thick that you could start a fire with them. She smelled distinctly of sherry under all the perfume.

"Um, I was just exploring the castle," she said nervously. "Are—are you Professor Trelawney?"

"Yes, dear, I am. And who might you be?"

"I'm Hermione Granger…" She couldn't resist. She'd heard some about this teacher from Alicia. "If you teach Divination, didn't you see me coming?"

"I see many things," Trelawney said, with an eerie wave of her hands, "but not all may be interpreted. But come in, now. Let me see…precocious and inquisitive of mind, a wanderer far from the common path—were you perhaps born under Mercury?"

"Erm, I don't know, Professor. My birthday was on Thursday."

"Yes, Virgo, a child of Mercury, indeed." The off-kilter way Trelawney stared at her through those magnifying glasses made Hermione rather uncomfortable.

"Do—do you live up here, Professor?"

"But of course, my apartment is just upstairs. Like you, I find that descending into the crowds of the main school clouds the Inner Eye."

"I'm…not sure I have the 'Inner Eye'…" Hermione started.

"But you keep to yourself, and you are separate from all others," Trelawney continued.

"Not really…" Hermione said self-consciously.

But the Divination teacher kept going: "Oh, I sense great changes coming for you, dear. You will find the prize you are seeking in November—"

"What? I'm not seeking a prize—"

"But in the spring, one of your number will be sacrificed—"

"What number? I don't have a 'number'. I…I think you must be mistaken, Professor." She said nervously, backing toward the ladder.

"Oh, those who have the Sight will know it." Trelawney said.

"Yeah, uh…I think I'll stick with arithmantic projections, ma'am."

"Numbers cannot convey the full experience of the Inner Eye, child."

"Well…maybe not, but…um, at least we know what we're talking about—Goodbye, professor, I have to go." Hermione reached the trap door and scrambled down the silver ladder, her heart pounding, Had she really just talked back to a teacher like that? Yes, yes she had. Professor Trelawney did not seem like the kind of teacher she would get along with, and she didn't need the Sight to see that. She barely noticed that she hadn't had a chance to pace off the classroom. Then again, it was too crowded with furniture to do it, anyway.

Still, she was a bit troubled as she returned to the more travelled parts of the castle. The woman may have been little better than a muggle fortune teller, but her words, "you are separate from all others" hit a little too close to home. It wasn't just maths that set her apart around here. The culture gap alone put her in a small minority, and she was more of a natural loner than she really liked to admit. It was so hard to relate to most of the people in the castle.

She decided to call it a day after that and head back to the Common Room. She started wondering what she was going to write to her parents tomorrow. As much as it pained her, she felt like most of today's events were once again things that were probably best left out of her letters. Getting hexed in the back by a rich, privileged bigot wouldn't play too well with her parents, and Professor Trelawney was just too weird to bring up.

Her roommates' advice—just stay away from the Slytherins—was decidedly unhelpful. It certainly didn't address the root problem. But she had to admit she didn't have anything better to work with at the moment.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: The answer is 42. The question is, what do you get when you multiply six by JK Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

The equation on the board read _x = a/b - (b-c)/b_.

"Now, given the rules of symbol manipulation, what is the simplest way to express the value of x?" Professor Vector asked. "Mr. Montague?"

The Slytherin boy thought for a moment. He was pretty bright, but like a majority of the the class, he had been mystified when the numbers vanished from the equations entirely. "A minus c divided by b?" he said uncertainly.

"No, Mr. Montague. Mr. Diggory?"

Cedric didn't look much better off. He scratched a few symbols on his parchment and said, "A minus b minus c divided by b."

"No, that's not it either…Miss Granger!"

"Huh? Oh—a minus b plus c over b," she said quickly, snapping out of her daze.

"Correct," Vector said. "Miss Granger, I'm aware you had Astronomy last night, but I _do_ expect you to stay awake in my class."

"Yes, Professor," she said sheepishly. A few people snickered behind her, and even the other members of her study group looked torn between being amused at her embarrassment and amazed that she could correctly answer a question the rest of them could barely understand without missing a beat, even while she was half asleep.

Hermione had stopped bothering to raise her hand in Arithmancy class pretty quickly, at least when it came to the maths lessons. Sometimes, Professor Vector would call on her after a couple of her classmates had got a question wrong, and sometimes she would just work it out on the board. The trouble was that this wasn't how Hermione was used to doing things, and on Thursdays, it could be difficult to stay awake if she wasn't adequately engaged. The worst part was it wasn't just Thursdays. While the weekly two o'clock jaunts for Astronomy Class affected her the worst, she was having trouble sleeping in general, staying up much later than she ought to reading every other night. It had started as an effort to try to learn more about the magical world so she could relate better, but it was fast turning into just a plain old bad habit.

While she was all but lost in thought, Professor Vector worked through the steps of simplifying the equation on the board to demonstrate her answer and then called on Alicia: "Miss Spinnet, would you care to solve this equation for b?"

"Um…" Alicia quickly, but very carefully, scribbled out the steps on her parchment, muttering to herself. "Um, a plus c divided by x plus 1?"

"Correct." Alicia looked quite pleased with herself, as did Hermione, seeing that that she had got the point across to at least one member of her study group. She had to stifle a laugh a moment later when someone asked if it was magic that made the numbers appear and disappear from the equations like that. It was odd the way some people thought about magic when they were raised with it.

* * *

It was a chilly, foggy autumn day, the kind of day that made one glad of the thick, woollen Hogwarts robes. Sitting out here in the Viaduct Courtyard, everything was quiet and still. Even the birds were eerily silent in the fog. The loudest sounds were the whisper of autumn leaves and the scratching of her mechanical pencil. Hermione gazed up at the exterior of the castle and carefully sketched what she saw. This would be her first sketch of the outside of the castle to send to her parents, and she could see a fair bit from here: the Entrance Hall, the Great Tower, the whole face of the West Wing, and several of the towers of the East Wing. But she paid particular attention to the Great Tower, the huge column that housed the Grand Staircase.

She had finished breakfast quickly that morning to get an early start exploring the space around largest and most complicated of Hogwarts's one hundred forty-two staircases. She started from the lowest part she could get to, the dungeon level, and worked her way up. There was a large set of doors on the dungeon level that indicated the staircase went lower, but they were locked. She hesitated there, about to head back up, but something stopped her. It wasn't like anyone else followed the rules around here. She approached the doors, checked to make sure no one was around, then discretely drew her wand and whispered, "_Alohomora_". The doors didn't budge. Oh well, it was worth a try. Though it _did_ make her wonder why the third-floor corridor wasn't protected by something stronger. Maybe someone had to feed the dog? She shuddered at the thought.

With three large, interlocking squares of rises and landings, there were lots of different ways for the stairs to go, and some part or other of the Grand Staircase was always in constant motion. She had to stop at one point when the flight she was on changed to connect to the forbidden corridor on the third floor and wait for it to change back. That wasn't a mistake she was going to make again.

She counted the steps going up, making note of each room around the staircase, but as soon as she hit the eighth floor, above the entrance to Dumbledore's office, things started to turn strange. First, the complex interlocking and changing staircases shrank down to a single square. It was still twenty steps on a side, but it later narrowed to fifteen, then ten as she ascended. The rooms off the staircase were also smaller here, and most of them seemed to be unused, while the few that were seemed to be either storage for specialised items or contained unusual experiments, presumably of Dumbledore's, unless any of the other professors worked on such oddities as inside-out clocks and upside-down fountains up here.

On the seventeenth floor, the portraits started to look off. They looked fuzzy and distorted, as if they were copies of copies The figures no longer spoke to her, and they moved in strange, jerky ways. Around the same time, the neat, cut stones of the walls became more and more irregular until they were little more than a rubble of rocks held together by mortar. A few floors later, the square staircase changed into a tighter spiral staircase, but the steps were crooked, and from counting the steps, she was sure she ought to be about fifty feet above the top of the tower by now. She couldn't see how much higher the stairs went because of how the tower tapered, but she kept seeing a floor or two above her, so she kept going.

There were still rooms up here, if one could call them that. They were all about eight feet wide and between eight and sixteen feet long. She made careful note of each one in her notebook, but she could barely describe them. They looked like random fragments of rooms from elsewhere in the castle: a classroom with only three desks in it, a bedroom with barely enough room for a single bed. Some rooms had copies of the odd experiments she had seen below, but they were broken copies. They might have gears that would jam or pipes that just circled and never attached to anything.

There were little windows, too, windows that appeared to look out from the correct height, well above the roof of the castle. But later, looking up at the tower from the courtyard, she saw something she had never noticed before—row upon row of little windows that grew ever smaller and closer together until she couldn't see them from this distance. It looked as if no matter how strange the castle became, its topology stayed the same: a window on the inside always matched up with a window on the outside. There was something comforting in that thought. At least the castle obeyed _some_ rules.

Oh, but it _was_ strange. As Hermione had climbed even higher, things became even more twisted. The portraits soon looked like moving modern art, and many of them weren't rectangular and were missing parts of their frames. Things started not to be made of the right materials: one stair step might be wood and another steel, and they were sometimes so crooked that she could barely climb them. A few were missing all together. The ever-lit torches that lit the stairs might be made of copper or clay instead of wood, but they still burned, at least the ones that didn't have their heads embedded in the wall. She even passed a suit of armour made of porcelain that had four arms. And there were doors made of glass, doors installed sideways, and doors so oddly shaped that it would be almost impossible to crawl through them. She started avoiding the shadowy corners, since she more than once found them home to overgrown spiders and other bugs, and in one case, a very large bat that thankfully flew down and away.

The tower continued to narrow so that the rooms became only about four feet wide, and by now they were filled with things that made no sense. Here there would be half of a desk, balancing impossibly on two legs; there, a chair with its legs installed upside-down, making it unusable; there again, a whole bed, but made entirely of leather and attached sideways to the wall because it was the only way it would fit. All three might be in the same room if it was long enough, and she was sure that the rooms had taken to changing whenever she turned her back.

Eventually, everything just seemed to melt together. She could _feel_ the magic twisting around her. The stairs were still more or less usable, but everything else—wall, door, room, window, and furniture—all looked like a hodge podge, as if someone had taken bits of everything in the castle and thrown it all in a blender. To the extent that there _were_ rooms, they looked more like closets.

She tried one door that looked like the door to a kitchen cupboard and inside a little cubby-hole found a small window and what she realised was supposed to be a bed. The mattress was the right thickness, but it was the size of an ottoman and had sheets made of very thin layers of stone. In place of a headboard was a fragment of a chair, correctly made of wood, but with its two legs tied into knots. One of the legs ended in a working hot water tap from which the water fell upwards and the other supported a bit of disembodied gear-work that appeared to be cut from portrait canvas and had splashes of colour flickering across it.

From the view out the window, it looked like she was well over four hundred feet in the air, twice the height of the entire castle. There weren't any torches at that height, thankfully. Who knew what would happen if they got thrown in the magical blender? The only light came from windows that cut past the "rooms" directly into the staircase

After looking at the odd bed-thing, she heard a noise up ahead, a high-pitched chirping like a bird song. She moved up toward the noise, but when she did, a mouse the size of an Irish terrier leapt out of one of the cubby-holes, took one look at her, squealed like a pig, and bolted up the stairs.

Hermione ran screaming all the way back down the tower. It was only by a miracle that she didn't trip on any crooked or missing stairs. She was done. There was no top of the tower; she was sure about it now. It just kept climbing higher and higher and got smaller and smaller until it dissolved into atoms and pure magic, and she was sure she would be eaten by a giant cockroach long before then. She didn't stop until she had run down the three hundred feet of steps back to the seventh floor—where she very nearly collided with Albus Dumbledore as he was exiting his office.

She hadn't had cause to meet the headmaster in person, yet, and this was not the way she wanted to do it. This was the Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, and Defeater of Grindelwald for Pete's sake, and here she was, sweating, unkempt, scared out of her wits, and so out of breath that she found herself slumping against the wall to keep her feet.

But Albus Dumbledore only looked concerned at the state of his young student. "Miss Granger?" he asked. "What ever is the matter?"

"I—I was…up there…and there was a…" Hermione tried to articulate between breaths, pointing upward.

The Headmaster's face became more worried. "Up in the tower? How high up did you go?"

"Way—way above the top—sir," she stammered. "There was a…big mouse—_big mouse!_" She held her hands a couple of feet apart to indicate the size.

"Oh dear, that high? Miss Granger, I think you'd better go see Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught. And in the future, you should not venture any higher than the top of the tower _ought_ to be without the help of a professor."

She nodded profusely. "Yes, sir."

"However," Dumbledore said with a smile, "it is rare to see such curiosity about the castle from the students." His eyes twinkled a bit as he continued, "Five points to Gryffindor for your initiative."

Hermione's mouth hung open for a minute until she came to her senses and squeaked, "Thank you, Professor," before dashing off toward the Hospital Wing.

That hadn't exactly been the best way to start the day.

After Madam Pomfrey had given her a Calming Draught, and some lunch, given the time, she headed out to the relative safety of the outside of the castle for a nice, _normal_ afternoon alone sketching whatever she could see. That seemed to be the way things ended up on the weekends. Hermione wasn't ashamed of liking her peace and quiet, but it did feel a bit isolating at times. No one was likely to be out here on a Saturday—out on the Training Grounds, maybe, but not here, overlooking the lake.

"Hermione?"

Her head snapped in the direction of the sound. "Dean? What are you doing out here?"

Dean Thomas was strolling toward her across the courtyard. "I was gonna draw some pictures of the castle for my folks," he said.

"Really? That's what I'm doing."

"Oh? I didn't know you were an artist, too."

"I'm not," she said quickly. "I just know enough geometry to manage with buildings."

He sat down on the bench next to her. "Alright, then, let's see what you've got."

She slowly turned over her sketchbook to show him, nervous about having her work analysed by an actual artist.

"Hmm…it's not bad," Dean said. "Shading needs some work, and I don't know if you were really going for the fine detail like the ivy and stuff." He flipped back to the previous pages. "What's this?"

Hermione snatched the sketchbook back defensively. "I was trying to map out the Grand Staircase," she said. "It…didn't go well."

"Oh, sorry."

The two of them sat mostly in silence as they sketched, neither one wanting to say much after that, although Dean gave her a few drawing tips. She felt uncomfortable about snapping at him, but she wasn't ready to talk to _anyone _about her little adventure just yet. When she thought she was more or less done, she gave him a somewhat awkward goodbye and headed back inside.

* * *

"Today, we will begin our first unit on _un_transfiguration," Professor McGonagall began. "Because transfiguration can be quite error-prone, it is vital to know how to reverse a transformation. This is a complex art in itself, which requires a mastery of a number of different spell tools, depending on whether the transfiguration is permanent or not, how much you know about the original form, and whether there are any other spells applied, especially form-locking spells.

"Now, for many temporary transfigurations, like most of what you've been doing so far, a simple _Finite Incantatem _will suffice, but this will not work on stronger or more permanent transfigurations, and at the same time, it will cancel many other charms and spells that you may not want to. So we will begin with the most general untransfiguration spell for when the original form of the object is known, _Reparifarge_, so that you will be able to reverse your own work if you make a mistake."

Professor McGonagall looked pointedly at Hermione at the next part, as she often did when explaining the more esoteric points of her subject. "_Reparifarge _is approximately the arithmantic inverse of the general free transfiguration spell, which makes it effective at reversing a wide range of transfigurations, but not as powerful. And just as free transfiguration requires one to hold the target form clearly in mind, the inverse spell_, Reparifarge_, requires one to hold the _original _form clearly in mind."

Hermione was surprised to find she didn't know that bit. _Numerology and Grammatica _spoke much more about charms and jinxes than about transfiguration, something she considered a bit of an oversight. She knew the principle, of course, even if she didn't know the breakdown for that particular spell: take a reciprocal of the arithmantic elements and build the spell from the first few algebraic terms—probably just the first two terms. She suspected that a spell this low level would only be a first order approximation.

She eagerly wrote down in her notes Professor McGonagall's explanation and a few of her own speculations and questions based on it. As usual, she was the first to get the new spell to work, successfully untransfiguring her oak leaf back into a quill. She tried to help Harry Potter with his spell, since she'd wound up sitting next to him, but she didn't think he seemed too interested in her help.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall called to her after class was over.

"Yes, Professor?"

"The Headmaster informed me about your little excursion in the Upper Levels."

"Oh…" she said nervously.

"While I admire your perseverance in exploring the castle, I agree with him that you should be more careful. Magic can be unpredictable at times. If things start to turn strange…well, stranger than usual, it's best to turn back sooner rather than later."

"Yes, Professor," she said, slightly downcast, and left the room.

* * *

Hermione wandered the grounds for a while to find a good vantage point from which to sketch the back side of the West Wing. Heading out from the Clock Tower, past the little practice stone circle that the advanced students used once in a while, she headed down the path toward the groundskeeper's hut. It was down at a lower elevation than she would have liked, but it would do.

She was nearly there when the huge groundskeeper himself stepped out from behind a pile of pumpkins that were somehow as super-sized as he was.

"Well, 'ello, there," he called out jovially. "I weren't expectin' company today."

"Hello, Mr. Hagrid," Hermione replied timidly.

"Aw, yeh can jus' call me Hagrid…'Fraid I don't quite remember yer name, though," he said.

"It's Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger."

"Well, good ter meet yeh, Hermione," Hagrid said. "And what are yeh up ter out here today?"

"I'm…drawing a picture of the castle for my parents. This looked like a good place to do it, if that's alright."

"Well, o' course it is. It's got a nice view, don't it? Come on, make yerself at home."

"Thank you…Hagrid." Hermione sat on the large front porch of the hut and took out her notebook.

"It's nice havin' company out here," Hagrid mused. "I don't see too many o' the younger students. Of course, Harry Potter and his friend, Ron, come by every so often. Yeh know them?"

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah…we've met," she said. You couldn't escape knowing all about Harry Potter, as much as the boy tried himself. It made her feel a little sorry for him, when she wasn't busy being annoyed at him and Ron.

But Hagrid seemed to like them, like many people. "Good blokes, those two," he rambled on. "Course, I had ter pick up Harry from his relatives this summer. Phew—nastiest bunch o' muggles I ever met."

"Really?" she squeaked. That was news to her.

"Oh, yeah. You shoulda heard what they were sayin' about his parents and about Dumbledore. They hadn't even told him what'd happened to his parents."

Hermione quietly stopped sketching. That didn't sound like the Harry Potter she knew—usually looking happy, doing okay in classes, nice enough most of the time, but annoyingly not afraid to get into trouble, especially around Malfoy. Although it might explain why he never talked about his family, when Ron and everybody else did—even Hermione herself, if you asked her.

As if on cue, Hagrid said, "Mind yeh, most muggles are pretty decent folks. Yer parents are muggles, aren't they?"

"Mm hmm, they're dentists," she said absently as she started drawing again.

"Dentists? What's that?"

Did _nobody_ in the magical world know what a dentist was? "They're like healers, except they only work on teeth."

"Huh, funny how they do things out there."

Hermione found it was strangely pleasant talking to someone who had no idea who she was, about nothing in particular. In every school she attended, her reputation as a maths whiz ran ahead of her within a few days, but Hagrid didn't seem to be in the loop, or perhaps he just didn't remember. That wouldn't surprise her.

"So yeh've been spendin' yer Saturdays explorin' the castle on yer own?" Hagrid said as she explained what she'd been doing.

"More or less. It's hard when some parts of the castle don't make normal sense—at least by muggle standards. But I've been through most of the parts that students are allowed in by now."

"Hmm…" he said, impressed. "Must get lonely, though, don't it?"

Hermione froze up. The truth was that she _was_ getting lonely on these excursions. She hardly ever saw anyone out here—Dean once in a while, but they never had much to say to each other—which was a little odd, considering he was muggle-raised. And so much of the rest of the time, she was in schoolwork mode and didn't really have much occasion to talk to people. She was starting to see the pattern, but this yet one more thing she wasn't sure how to talk to anyone about, including her parents.

"It can be…" she admitted. "I see Dean Thomas out here drawing sometimes, but there's not many people interested in this kind of thing. I think I've got most of the drawings I want done, though."

"Well, don't worry. I'm sure you'll find some good friends in there. Always a pretty good lot, the students, most o' them."

"Yeah…sure…" She kept sketching, not letting Hagrid see her face.

As she was putting the finishing touches on her drawing, something struck her—something she couldn't believe she'd never noticed before. "Hagrid?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"What's above the Great Hall?"

"What's above where?"

"Look." She pointed up at the castle. "Above the Great Hall, there's three rows of windows and three small towers. I'm sure they're not visible on the inside. They must be above the enchanted ceiling. Do you know what's up there."

Hagrid stroked his wild beard in thought. "Hmm…can't say I do. Never paid much attention ter that before. Don't think anyone ever goes up there."

Was it just her, or were there a lot of things about Hogwarts that nobody ever paid attention to? Then again, the castle _was_ a thousand years old, and Hagrid _was_ only the groundskeeper. Maybe one of the professors would know.

* * *

Nope. Nobody really _did_ pay attention to what the castle looked like. Professor Vector said she'd never thought about what was above the Great Hall and had never heard of anyone using that space. Professor Binns was sadly useless, as usual, as was, more surprisingly, _Hogwarts, A History_. And she didn't feel comfortable asking Professor McGonagall after the Grand Staircase fiasco—which was silly, she thought. It was a perfectly reasonable question. It was just the way everyone else seemed to ignore it that made her feel like it was taboo or something. And Professor McGonagall just didn't seem to be the one to approach for that.

In a normal school, this wouldn't have been a difficult question. But then again, in a normal school, a lot of things that had already happened to her this year wouldn't have happened. And the students were no help, either. Of her study group, Cedric was the only one who had even _noticed_ the rows of little windows. She'd tried the prefects all the way up to seventh year, too, and none of them knew what was up there either, much less how to get there.

Hermione sighed softly. Perhaps it was time she took more drastic action. She'd rather not go there, but she had to admit it probably _would_ work—

"Hey, Hermione," someone interrupted her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, hi, Parvati," she said, seeing her roommate sit beside her on the sofa in the Common Room.

"So I haven't seen you much lately. Where do you go all the time."

"The library, mostly…I like to get my homework done early…and then read for a while."

"Well, I guess that's good if you can. You should come hang out with me and Lavender sometimes, though."

"Oh, what do you do together?"

"You know, just talk. Or we could do your hair," Parvati offered.

Hermione slumped back on the sofa and sighed loudly. She'd never had a single female friend who hadn't offered to do that at least once. She didn't particularly like her bushy hair, but she didn't have time to get it under control every morning. Or, if she was brutally honest, she rarely wanted to take the time, like other girls did.

"Sorry. Just talk, then?" Parvati backed off.

"I don't know. I've never been good at that either…what do normal girls talk about, anyway?"

"Mm…boys, Quidditch stars, family, other girls, whatever's in _Witch Weekly_, how much we hate our teachers—"

"I like most of my teachers," Hermione protested. "Besides, we have all but one of the same ones."

"Well, there's other things. Listen, how about I loan you my copy of _Witch Weekly_? Then you'll at least know what's going on."

"Uh, sure, thanks," she said unenthusiastically.

"Great…"

She tried reading Parvati's copy of _Witch Weekly_ that evening. She really did. But she gave up halfway through. She just couldn't slog through all of those gossip columns. It didn't help that she didn't even know who Gwenog Jones _was_, much less why she should care about her correspondence with Kirley Duke of the Weird Sisters. She didn't care for that in the muggle world, and here was no different.

What did she talk about with her friends back at home—besides school, anyway? Books? Movies? Sure, there was a fair bit of that, but most people in the magical world didn't even know who Tolkien was, let alone Arthur Clarke, and they'd certainly never seen a muggle film, any more than she'd seen a magical play. Relationships? Well, they were starting to in secondary school, but she'd been out of her element there, too.

Honestly, Hermione liked maths, science, science fiction, fantasy, chess, classical music, history—she could find other girls like that in the muggle world, but at Hogwarts—at best, she was in the wrong house for that. When it came down to it, she just had to admit that she had almost nothing in common with Lavender or Parvati. And Lily and Sally-Anne weren't much better. They mostly just hung out with each other, and she rarely saw them outside of class since they were both even more morning people than she was. She was starting to wonder if the Sorting Hat had been right not to put her in Ravenclaw.

Meanwhile, her lingering problem of figuring out what was above the Great Hall was still tugging at her mind, and she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she had only one useful resource left.

* * *

Well, this was it, she thought. This was her last, best hope for solving the mystery. It was risky, but if she was a Gryffindor, she might as well put it to _some _use.

"Hello, Fred, George," she said uneasily when she caught the Weasley Twins in the Common Room.

"Why, hello, Miss Granger. What can we do for you?" one of the red-haired boys said—probably Fred. She was starting to notice that Fred was the more outgoing of the two and more often the first to speak.

"Ah, you two know a lot about the castle, right?"

"Do we know a lot about the castle, Fred?" the second twin said, laughing.

"I'd say we know a fair bit, George. Trying to find a way to sneak out, are we?"

"No! I was just wondering if you could tell me what's above the Great Hall."

They stared at her in confusion. "Come again?" George said.

"There are three rows of little windows above the Great Hall. I was wondering what's up there. Even Professor Vector didn't know."

Now the twins stared at each other. "I never noticed that," George said.

"Me neither," Fred replied. "I've never seen them mentioned…anywhere."

"Do you think we should check with, uh…" George lowered his voice.

"Yes, I think we should. Miss Granger, could you give us a few minutes while we check our…sources?"

"Uh, sure."

"Come on, George, let's go." They dashed up the staircase to their dorm room.

Hermione wondered what that was all about. If she found out those two had had a map this whole time, she would…well, she wasn't sure what she would do yet, but she'd at least reconsider her stance of not antagonising them.

Up in their room, Fred and George quickly made sure there was no one inside, shut the door, and took out their most prized possession: the Marauder's Map.

The Marauder's Map was one of the most impressive bits of charms work they had ever seen. They'd filched it from Filch in their first year—from his "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous" file, no less. At first, they'd thought it was just a piece of parchment charmed to make snarky comments at people, but, apparently sensing the presence of a couple of pranksters, it had led them on until they'd discovered the pass phrase: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

They spoke the pass phrase now, and the map came to life, drawing in the names of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, those great unknown patrons of magical mischief-makers.

It was a complicated piece of work. The map unfolded to about three feet wide, and even then, the little dots that represented the occupants of the castle were barely bigger than periods. At meal times, the Great Hall was just a jumbled mess of names in between long rows of dots.

But it was surprisingly easy to use. The map was laid out like a book, with the West Wing on the left-hand page and the East Wing on the right-hand page. The front cover showed the title and a stylised representation of the grounds. The first spread was the dungeons, with some cutaways for the storage rooms under the dungeons. The next was the ground floor, then the first floor, and so on, up to the seventh floor. Finally, the ninth spread and the back cover were covered in dozens of little circles—cross sections of all the towers all the way up to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Finding a person in all those pages could be difficult, but finding a _place_ should have been easy. Yet even though they checked all the levels just to be sure, they found their memories were accurate: the building that housed the Great Hall was only drawn on the spread for the ground floor.

"Huh, that _is_ odd," Fred said. "I know I've seen those windows, but they're not on the map."

"I know…" said George. "Maybe the Marauders never went up there."

"Blasphemy!" his twin exclaimed. "Burn the blasphemer!"

"It _would_ make sense, though," George laughed. "Not much reason to go there if no one ever uses it. And if even some of the professors don't know—"

"—they really might not have thought about it. Wow…"

"I think that girl's really going places."

"Oh, yes, brother. Merlin help us all if she ever turns that mind of hers to pranking. Any ideas how to get up there, now?"

"Well, there must be a door off the Great Hall or the Entrance Hall somewhere, but I wouldn't know where to look. You?"

"Haven't the foggiest…but I know someone who might."

Both twins broke into wicked grins. "Mischief managed."

Hermione was waiting in the chair where they'd left her when the Weasley Twins came running back down the stairs.

"You have us at a loss, Miss Granger," one of them said.

"Even _we_ do not know what is above the Great Hall—"

"—something we thought was impossible."

"Oh, alright then," Hermione said, disappointed.

"You seem to have quite the knack for finding out things, though," the second twin said. She gave an equivocal nod. _She _thought that was far more down to everyone else's lack of curiosity.

"If you should discover what _is_ up there—"

"—We do hope you'll let us know."

"It's a rare treat to meet anyone who can compete with us on this sort of thing."

"Thanks," she said. "I'll, uh, I'll keep that in mind."

She was glad when they left her alone after that. She could appreciate the compliment, but she still didn't want their reputations rubbing off on her.

As for searching for an way into the unknown space, she could try checking for doors in that part of the castle that led up, but it wouldn't be easy. She had the rest of the castle pretty well mapped out now and had been in all the other towers that weren't off limits, but that was mostly from asking the older students how to get places. There were so many hidden doors and doors that were really "walls just pretending" in Hogwarts that it would be hard to find a new place that nobody knew about. And in the meantime, with her mapping efforts, she hadn't kept up with her calculus studies as well as she'd intended, not to mention trying to get to know her fellow students. Maybe it was time that she took a break from her exploring, she thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: JK Rowling to the power of Harry Potter is somewhere on the order of one billion galleons.

A/N: If anyone thinks Hermione seems out of character in this chapter, I can personally attest that prolonged stress and sleep deprivation can do that to a person. This will come to a head in the next chapter.

Many thanks to Pahan for providing great feedback and encouraging and challenging me to be bolder in writing this and upcoming chapters, which I think has made them much better than my original version.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Hermione was on edge from the minute the Potions class started, when she and Dean found themselves at a table adjacent to Draco Malfoy and his crony, Goyle. Just what she needed, she thought. It was hard enough just dealing with Professor Snape every week. Malfoy had more or less left her alone since their confrontation in the dungeons, but he had been in an increasingly bad mood in the last two Potions classes.

"Padma heard from Mandy Brocklehurst who heard from Daphne Greengrass that Malfoy's been complaining because a muggle-born is getting better grades than he is," was Parvati's breathless explanation, and Hermione had to conclude that it was depressingly plausible, from what she had heard about pureblood politics. Hermione just continued to ignore him. After all, there had been people around who were jealous of her intelligence since she was five. She had no intention of letting anything the little git said interfere with her studies.

But Malfoy didn't say anything to her. He only sneered at her a few times. Actually, he sneered at her fairly often, as he kept glancing suspiciously in her direction, but she didn't think much of it. It was only when she and Dean were both bent over the Potions book, checking the next step, and Snape was at the far corner of the room making waspish comments at Harry and Ron, that Malfoy made his move.

Hermione saw the movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up just in time to see Malfoy toss a handful of _something_ into her cauldron. She didn't quite get a good look at it, but she didn't need to, as the potion's reaction made it obvious, almost instantly boiling over in exactly the same way that Neville and Seamus had botched their potion last week.

It was only by reflexes faster than Hermione knew she had that catastrophe was averted. She reached under the cauldron and flipped the burner off before the now-explosive liquid touched it—the blast last week had been enough to send Seamus to the Hospital Wing. As it was, she got a scalded hand for her efforts, but that was the least of her problems, and Snape had turned toward the shouts and was approaching with a wicked grin.

"Tut tut," he said, casually vanishing the spilt potion with his wand. "Pine nuts again. Thought you'd try to experiment without permission, Granger? Or did you actually manage to read the wrong page?"

"N-neither, Professor," she stammered. "Malfoy threw them in."

"I did not," Malfoy said indignantly. "I can't help it if you don't know how to brew a simple potion."

"But I saw you throw them!"

"Prove it!"

Hermione turned a hair paler and looked at Dean pleadingly, but he shook his head slightly. He hadn't been looking that direction, and, Gryffindor though he was, he wasn't about to lie to Snape.

"Well, I'd say this work rates a Poor," Snape said. Hermione's eyes grew to the size of saucers in horror. "No use trying to salvage what's here, and I'm afraid you won't have time to start over." He vanished the contents of their cauldron without another word.

"Professor," she tried again, "We don't even have any pine nuts set out here. The potion doesn't call for them. We didn't put them in."

"I still see no proof," Snape said viciously. "You should not make unfounded accusations, Miss Granger."

"But I—"

"And five points from Gryffindor for talking back."

Hermione let out a small squeak and clenched her fists tightly under the table. She wanted very much to walk out right now, but she knew that would just make things worse. Lavender and Parvati gave her a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry about that," Dean whispered when Snape moved on. "I wasn't paying attention, and—"

"Just forget it," Hermione said. She turned away from him and sat down and read the textbook for the rest of the period.

Unfortunately, she couldn't even get off that easily. As she left the classroom, not looking up from her feet, she'd only made it a short way down the corridor when she heard a voice call out, "Running off crying to McGonagall, are you, Granger?"

She whirled around. "I am _not_ crying!" she shouted, which was quite true. She was far too angry. "Can't we just stay out of each other's ways, Malfoy?"

"Like I'm going to do what _you _say, mudblood. _Somebody_ needs to show you your place."

"I'm only trying to do well in my classes—"

Malfoy just talked over her. "Your sort don't _really_ belong here in the first place. I don't know how you pulled one over on Professor Vector—"

"I didn't—!"

"—but I think you can see Professor Snape knows how to handle people like you properly."

Malfoy drew his wand and, almost faster than she could follow, cast, "_Tsimpima!_"

She tried to dodge, but the spell hit her left shoulder, and she could attest then that the Stinging Jinx lived up to its name.

"Ouch! Please, I don't want any trouble." Hermione raised her own wand defensively and backed away.

All three of them took a step toward her, grinning evilly. "No prefects around to save you now," Malfoy said. She yelped as he hit her with another Stinging Jinx, evidently unafraid of retaliation.

She needed to get away from them, and fast. She needed to keep them from following and hexing her, which meant she needed a way to slow them down reliably without using too much power. One of the very few jinxes they'd learnt so far in Defence Class was the obvious solution. She raised her wand, still vaguely horrified at the blatant rule-breaking of it, and uttered, "_Colloshoo_."

Crabbe, who was nearest to her, toppled forward, his shoes stuck firmly to the floor. She turned her wand on a surprised Malfoy, but before she could cast again, she heard a gruff voice say, "_Vermillious_, and she got a face full of red sparks from Goyle. Then, as she blinked them away, Malfoy yelled, "_Mordeodigiti!_"

The Toe-Biting Jinx hit her in the stomach, but that didn't matter. She felt her trainers constrict painfully around her toes, so much that she stumbled and collapsed onto her bum, struggling to scoot away from them. Crabbe unstuck himself, and the three boys started advancing on her again. She raised her wand to defend herself, desperately trying to think of a spell that could even the odds. With a cry of "_Verdimillious!_" she created a cloud of green sparks large enough to cover all three of them, but even as she uttered the spell, the boys were _lowering_ their wands.

"Magic in the halls? I'm sure you know _that_'s against the rules, Granger." Out of nowhere, Professor Snape was looming over her.

She managed to scramble to her feet, though she still couldn't feel her toes. "But, Professor, they—"

"Ten more points from Gryffindor—and get a move on!" he snapped. The boys smirked at her silently.

Hermione stood stock still for an instant, every muscle on a hair trigger, and then spun on her heel and ran down the corridor—not so much because she was upset, though she was, but because she knew instinctively that if she opened her mouth again, she would say something she would regret. It was a pure fight-or-flight response, she thought afterwards, and that was definitely not a fight she could win. She spent most of that afternoon in her dorm room. After losing fifteen points in one morning—all of them completely unfair—she could be forgiven for not wanting to face her house-mates any more than necessary. She never thought she'd be so glad to see the weekend.

* * *

Hermione sat in the library on Sunday, trying to fight off one of those afternoon attacks of sleepiness that seemed to be hitting her more and more often. It was her own fault, of course, for staying up past midnight so often. She almost felt like she'd been bewitched, it was so hard to break the habit.

She'd spent the weekend, like the last couple, off by herself, reading—the time she didn't need for homework, anyway. She felt vaguely like she ought to be hanging out with her roommates or something, but anymore, it felt like by the time she got to the weekend, she needed the time alone to rest up mentally. Besides, she enjoyed taking some time out to read what she wanted to, whether it was about the Second Derivative Test or _Animal Ghosts of Britain_ or just taking a closer look at _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_—when she could stay awake, anyway.

She might well have dozed off for a few minutes, her head hanging low over the table. At a sharp sound, she snapped awake—it was only an older Ravenclaw slamming a book shut, but at least she was reasonably alert again. She reread the page she was on so she could actually remember it and kept going.

With a start, she soon noticed the light through the windows was fading. She checked her watch and started fuming. She was late for dinner! This was happening far too often lately; she couldn't understand where the hours went. She would barely have time after dinner to scribble out a letter to her parents and send it before curfew, and while her homework for tomorrow was done, she still had a Charms essay that she'd somehow managed to put off for the whole weekend. Again.

Hermione Granger never thought she would have trouble getting her homework done. And no, she certainly hadn't missed an assignment, nor had her marks fallen. But it felt like it was getting harder to keep up, even though the work objectively wasn't any harder, and that worried her to no end.

Hermione was by no means incompetent at managing her own studies. The obvious thing to do in a situation like this was to draw up a homework schedule, which she did. Unfortunately, and uncharacteristically, she couldn't seem to predict how long her homework would take anymore. She was having a harder time focusing than she used to. Not that she was slacking off by any means—if she thought about it, she was reading more voraciously than she ever had in her life, since she was usually more engrossed in numbers. Even she had a hard time believing how fast she was getting through books, but there was no useful order to it. She just grabbed whatever book caught her eye off the library shelves—there were so many of them—and most of them were of little practical import to her classes. Even a detailed history of Grindelwald's War, for example, contained little to nothing in the way of magical instruction, wizarding culture, or even duelling tactics, which were likely to be useful in day-to-day life. But Merlin, it was fascinating—wow, she really was starting to talk like them.

Anyway, she wasn't used to being this easily distracted, and it disturbed her not knowing where it was coming from. It disturbed even more her that she was barely motivated enough to finish her homework on time, and she really didn't know where to turn. It would be hard enough to tell her parents in person, let alone in a letter, and this just wasn't the sort of thing she could tell a teacher. Not with her reputation. And there was nothing academically wrong with her, well, besides Snape, so why bring it up?

Hermione ate dinner quickly, paying little attention to what was on her plate and speaking only a few curt words to anyone who spoke to her. She felt exhausted, and the day wasn't over yet—plus, she still didn't really feel like dealing with people right now. When she was done eating, she then trudged up to the owlery. It was actually starting to feel like a chore writing these letters home every Sunday, which was probably another bad sign. She didn't dislike it—in fact, she would have liked to spend more time on it, but the problem was that time was something she never seemed to have enough of, even when she thought she ought to. And, more to the point, she never really knew what to say anymore.

But her mum and dad were expecting her to write, so she went up and hesitatingly wrote out a short note, just putting down whatever came to mind. Oddly, most of the unpleasant things that had been going on literally _didn't_ come to mind, not until she was sitting up in the Common Room wondering why, and if she really would have written them anyway.

She tried to get started on her Charms essay and managed to write about a foot—that she would probably have to rewrite tomorrow, since she kept dozing off in her chair, rendering it far more disjointed than her usual work. In an unusually clear moment of self-awareness, she decided that she must be even more sleep-deprived than she thought. Normally, if she was behind on her work (and this _was_ behind for her), she would stay up late to finish it, but that wasn't working anymore, since she just couldn't stay awake to do it. She'd have to finish the essay up tomorrow. She wearily climbed the seven flights to her bedroom and, like Sally-Anne had their first night, fell asleep on her bed without even changing out of her robes.

* * *

Daniel and Emma Granger waited in the kitchen at breakfast on the Monday before Halloween for her daughter's weekly letter to arrive. Sure enough, right on time, a short-eared owl flew up to house and tapped on the window with its beak. Emma opened the window, took the letter from the bird, and fed it a piece of bacon. It hooted happily and flew up into the tree, where it would wait for them to write a reply. The Grangers were still amazed at how intelligent the post owls were.

Emma opened the envelop and sighed. Hermione's letters had been getting progressively darker over the past few weeks. It wasn't anything major. It just seemed like the mentions of her classmates were growing fewer, or when she did mention them, it was more often to complain about them. And while she was doing well in her classes, it was becoming clear that History, Defence, and Potions all frustrated her endlessly. The letters had grown a bit shorter and sparser, too. She could tell her daughter wasn't sure what to write anymore. It was hard for any parent to see their child begin to grow up and grow apart from them, but a it was lot harder when she was living in an entirely different world and apparently not adjusting well.

So Emma was more than a little concerned when her daughter's latest letter came out a good deal less neatly written than usual.

"Oh, dear, it looks Hermione's really got trouble now," she said sadly.

"Oh, what happened?" Dan said.

Emma read the letter aloud.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I just don't know what to do anymore! Professor Snape gave Dean and me a Poor on our potion on Friday. A Poor! And he __knew__ that we were doing just fine until that git Draco Malfoy sabotaged us. He managed to slip pine nuts into our cauldron, and it boiled over. (Pine cones are opened by fire, so they have a strong reaction to the heat—it's not important.) We tried to tell Professor Snape, but we couldn't prove Malfoy did it._

_I asked Professor McGonagall if there was anything we could do, but she just said to file a complaint, and I asked around, and people say Professor Snape has complaints filed against him all the time, and no one ever does anything because he has friends on the Board of Governors! Including Malfoy's father! I filed a complaint against him and Malfoy, but there's not much she can do because Professor Snape is in charge of the Potions grades._

_Parvati said she thought Malfoy was mad because I'm getting higher grades than he is, and he's one of those purebloods who thinks he's better than everybody else. And then Harry Potter and Ron Weasley just said to let it go. Actually so did Lavender and Parvati. And Neville Longbottom said he thinks Snape and Dumbledore worked together during that civil war or something, and that's why Dumbledore never does anything about him. It's like everyone just accepts how awful Professor Snape is because they can't do anything about it, and the worst part is I can't think of anything to do either._

_Arithmancy this week was weather forecasting. I don't think it's up to muggle standards, though. In fact, I'm not even convinced it's really magic like before when we used numerology for probability manipulation, but it seems to work well enough for wizards. I'm really excited for Charms this week, though. Professor Flitwick says we're finally going to learn levitation._

_Love from Hermione_

"I can't believe they let that man get away with that," Dan groused.

"Well, we know the magical world is behind the times," Emma said dejectedly. "I just wish we could do more for her. It's like Year 3 in primary school all over again, except we're not there to hold her when she cries."

"God, I was hoping I could wait a couple more years before seeing our little girl have her heart broken," Dan said. "I don't know what we can do, though. They're going to make her go to a magical school somewhere, and it's really only going to be Hogwarts or that one in France."

"Just keep encouraging her, Dan. That's all we _can_ do.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_That sounds pretty awful about Professor Snape. He shouldn't be allowed to behave like that, no matter whose friend he is. Out here, if something like that happened, someone would write a letter to the paper and complain, but I don't know if you can get away with that there, especially while you're still in his class. Are there some older students or former students who aren't taking Potions anymore who could do something? We wish we could do more for you, but the magical world is so isolated from the "muggle" world that we don't have much access to anything, really._

_We do hope your year isn't going too badly for you. You were so excited to start learning magic this summer, but now it sounds like a lot of your classes are causing trouble. And you don't seem to be all that close with your classmates. We're sure it's hard adjusting to what's basically a completely different culture, but we do worry about you. We want you to do your best, yes, but we also want you to enjoy yourself. If you have any kind of problems, please try to at least find a teacher you can talk to. We know you haven't had much luck with Professor McGonagall, but Professor Vector and Professor Flitwick both sound pretty helpful._

_Please try to stick in out, at least for this year. If you really think it would help, we can look into having you transfer somewhere else, but, honestly, there aren't that many options. Just remember that we love you and support you here at home._

_Love from Mum and Dad_

Hermione read over the letter with a frown when she took it from the owl the next day. She was all too aware that she wasn't that close to her classmates, and her classes certainly weren't all she had hoped they would be. But transfer? She hadn't even considered that, and she hadn't even told her parents the worst. She wasn't the first person Malfoy had sabotaged in class, not to mention the hexing incidents. But leaving Hogwarts would feel like failing—like giving up. There had to be some way to make things better here, if only she could understand how things worked in the magical world. If only she could understand why _she_ was having so much trouble by herself. She felt like she was on the verge of failing a test that could have passed with flying colours if she'd tried…if she only knew where to even start.

Well, her parents _had_ given her one idea. And she happened to be sitting right by one person who might be able to help.

"Percy," she said, turning to the red-haired prefect on her left.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Isn't there anything anyone can do about Professor Snape?"

Percy glanced up at the High Table, where Snape was grimly reading the morning paper and taking a sip of tea. He leaned a bit closer to Hermione. "What do you mean? What did he do?"

"Well, he gave Dean Thomas and me a Poor on our potion when we were sabotaged by Draco Malfoy, and he…took he took fifteen points from me for things Malfoy started." She sniffled slightly. "And he's a really unfair teacher in general."

"Oh, sorry, that's too bad." Percy said sympathetically. "Draco Malfoy's been a bigger troublemaker than most of the Slytherins all year."

"Malfoy, you say?" She turned to see Fred and George sitting a couple of seats down between Alicia and another Quidditch player, Angelina Johnson. "If you're having trouble with Malfoy," one of them said—George, she thought, "you might appreciate what's going to happen to him this morning."

"Alright, what did you two do?" Percy asked warningly.

"We will not confirm or deny any involvement," George replied.

"You've got nothing on us," Fred confirmed. "Why, maybe it was Lee who did it."

"But it should be pretty entertaining, right Fred?"

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, guys," Hermione said nervously. "What if he tries to get you back."

"Oh, don't worry, Malfoy's smart enough not to try anything in the Hall."

"Besides, we've got two years' experience on him and those two lumps he calls his friends."

"It's not you I'm wor—"

"Oww! Augh! Let go! Get this—stupid thing—off of me!" Hermione was cut off by a very nasally-sounding Draco Malfoy leaping from the Slytherin Table and shouting loudly. He pulled something that looked like a teacup off his face and smashed it against the wall. With half the school laughing at his now unusually-red nose, he glared across the Hall at the Weasley Twins, who were laughing the most hysterically of all. Most of the Professors looked quite displeased by the incident, and Snape had swooped down to make a show of taking care of things at the Slytherin Table, but Malfoy had already sat down, since he really couldn't try anything with so many eyes on him, and started muttering angrily to Crabbe and Goyle.

"A nose-biting teacup!" Percy exploded. "And in the middle of the Great Hall! Really?"

"Brilliantly simple!" George exclaimed.

"I didn't think it would work," said Fred.

"Professor McGonagall will hear about this," Percy grumbled.

"Ah ah ah, brother, you still have no proof we did anything," Fred countered.

"Especially since Malfoy smashed the thing."

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. "One of these days, these pranks are going to come back to bite you two," he said.

"Bite you! Ha!" George said.

"Maybe he _does_ have a sense of humour."

"He _does_ have a point," Hermione suggested. "If nothing else, Professor Snape can find an excuse to take points from you in class."

"Yeah, but he does that anyway," said George.

She and Percy both rolled their eyes. "Percy, I know a lot of the sixth and seventh year students don't take Potions anymore," she said. "Couldn't they write letters to the _Daily Prophet_ or something about Professor Snape?"

"Well, they _could_," Percy said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, it probably wouldn't help all that much. There actually was a letter-writing campaign a few years ago, when my brother, Bill, was starting here. A lot of people complained about him, but Professor Dumbledore didn't want to fire him, and Lucius Malfoy convinced the Board of Governors to let him off with what amounted to a slap on the wrist. But you shouldn't worry too much. Snape usually won't give you too much trouble if you keep your head down and are respectful to him."

Hermione sighed and wearily went back to her breakfast. Apparently, there was no getting rid of Professor Snape. For supposedly being the best school of magic in the world, Hogwarts had some serious issues. A Potions teacher who hated children, and yet nobody could seem to get rid of him was only part of it. History? Binns had seniority on everybody, including Dumbledore. Defence? Supposedly cursed, and, given the small size of the wizarding world, they were lucky to get anyone to teach it at all. And bullying? For Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, apparently, the number one rule at Hogwarts was, "Don't get caught."

She left breakfast wishing she could go back to bed, and not just because she hadn't got enough sleep. But no, she had Charms this morning. Percy went on ahead to…wherever he went all the time—he seemed to just appear and disappear at random, juggling his twelve classes. So she followed Alicia, with half the Quidditch team close beside, when she heard a voice call out, "Alright, Weasels, I know it was you!"

She looked over her shoulder to see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle storming toward them, wands already drawn.

"Why, Mr. Malfoy, I have no idea what you're talking about," George said, obviously holding back a laugh, since Malfoy's nose was still bright red.

"You think almost taking my nose off is funny, do you?" Malfoy fumed. "Did you put them up to this, Granger? I didn't think you had the guts to go out for revenge."

"No!" she cried in horror as Crabbe moved toward her. "I didn't—"

"I _know_ Miss Granger wasn't involved," Fred said, stepping in front of her. "She's far too much of a killjoy for following the rules."

"You should not make unfounded accusations, Mr. Malfoy," George added, mimicking Snape's voice. "After all, can you _prove_ that _any_ of us was involved?"

"And besides," George continued, "if, hypothetically, we _were_ in some way involved with planting that little teacup on your table…"

"We wouldn't need an excuse," they said in unison.

By now, Alicia and Angelina had backed away behind Hermione. Hermione had started backing away, too, but not fast enough because Malfoy and his friends and Fred and George all started casting spells.

Several things happened very fast. First, spells started flying—she didn't even know who cast what, but she distinctly heard "_Tarantellegra_," "_Furnunculus_," and "_Vermillious_." Then, there was a loud bang as the spells collided and interacted unpredictably, and a whirlwind of red sparks exploded through the corridor. Hermione was thrown to the floor, and she felt a painful heat on her skin as the sparks danced dizzyingly around her eyes. When she came to her senses, she smelt something smoldering. She looked and saw the letter her parents sent her, which, being written on paper rather than the less flammable parchment, had been set on fire by those overpowered sparks.

"My letter!" she screamed. She scrambled over and quickly beat the little flames out with the sleeve of her robes, but the damage was done. The letter was barely still in one piece and barely readable.

"My father will hear about this!" She looked over and saw the primary participants in the battle all had boils on their faces and were wobbling on dancing legs. From the blistering sensation on her face, she was sure she had a few boils herself. The hem of Goyle's robe was on fire. Malfoy looked apoplectic, but he didn't try anything else and instead staggered away, presumably to the hospital wing.

Fred and George quelled their dancing feet with a simple _Finite Incantatem_ and helped Hermione to her feet.

"Phew, things _can_ get a little crazy if you mix too many spells," George said. "If you don't still have that Boil-Curing Cream from your first week, we have extra. You don't really need the Hospital Wing for it."

"We _are_ sorry about that," Fred told her. "We didn't think he'd try to start something."

"Well, not with anyone but us, anyway," George corrected.

"See, _we've _been told on plenty of times before, and—"

"Thanks," Hermione muttered as she pushed past them, averting her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Alicia asked as she ran past.

"I'm fine," she lied. Right now, she just wanted to get away where they wouldn't see her crying, but she could probably compose herself in time for class. The way she figured it, she had just enough time to run back up to her dorm—Thank God she actually _had_ saved some of that Boil-Curing Cream to show her parents. And thank God Snape had actually let her when she asked. (He claimed he appreciated people "showing some actual interest".) It was about the one sensible thing he'd done in his class.

"Well, I feel kind of sorry for her, now," Fred mused as he watched Hermione go. "That _was_ mostly our fault."

"She seems to be having a hard enough time," George agreed. "And I've seen that same look she has on Percy. She's _obviously_ working too hard."

"Mm-hmm. I wish we could do something to get her to come out of her shell a bit," Fred replied with a grin.

"Oh, no you don't," Alicia Spinnet came back and scolded them. "She's got enough problems without you two messing things up for her."

"Oh, we wouldn't do anything _bad_ to her. Just a bit of fun," he replied.

"Like maybe prank her slide rule to crack a few jokes," George suggested. "Do you know where she keeps it?"

"Prank her slide rule?" Alicia said incredulously. "She's Hermione Granger. She doesn't _use_ a slide rule."

"Well, we just thought it would help if she could laugh at herself a little," Fred told her. "Besides, it might convince Malfoy she didn't have anything to do with his little incident."

"You two just lay off her, will you? She's having a hard enough time adjusting to the magical world as a muggle-born. She never had any magical friends before, and she's been having a hard time opening up to people here."

"It can't be that bad. You guys are her friends, aren't you?" asked George. "And we've seen her hanging around with some others in her year."

"You know what," Fred interrupted, "if you feel that strongly about it, we won't prank her. She's probably too smart for us, anyway."

George snapped his head to look at his twin in surprise.

"Thank you," Alicia said. "It's good to see you have a sympathetic side." She walked off.

"Why did you do that?" George whispered.

"Because I just had an idea."

"I thought that was my job."

"Not today, brother. Besides we can't have Alicia tipping little Hermione off. She's too smart to just slip something by her, like Malfoy."

"But you just said—"

"I said we wouldn't prank _Hermione Granger_. Have you noticed where she usually sits at mealtimes?"

"Ohh…" He remembered quite well, now.

"Exactly. Now all we need is some kind of light-hearted area-effect prank to nail the both of them at once."

"Well, now that you've brought _him_ up, I _did_ have an idea for combining a Comb-a-Chameleon with a Springloaded Switching Siphon."

"Oh? Do tell…"

* * *

"So an exponent…means…" Cedric Diggory checked his notes. "Multiplying a number by itself over and over."

"That's right," Hermione said. "It's a lot like how multiplying is _adding_ a number to itself over and over."

The Wednesday afternoon study group was probably the high point of Hermione's week so far, although she was looking forward to Halloween, too. But what with the mess with Snape and Malfoy, plus little annoyances like Ron Weasley being in an even worse mood than normal for no apparent reason, the study group was a definite improvement. It was also some refreshing intellectual stimulation coming off of History.

"Okay, so, like, ten times ten is a hundred," Cedric continued. "Ten times ten times ten is a thousand…ten to the fourth power is ten thousand?"

"That's right."

"Wow, those are going to be some big numbers pretty fast," Alicia said. "That means ten to the tenth power is…"

"Ten billion," Hermione said idly.

Alicia laughed. "Just as fast with those, huh? What eight to the seventh power, then?"

"2,097,152."

"How about seven to the eighth power?" Roger challenged her.

"5,764,801, but I memorised them up to ten to the tenth, just like the multiplication tables," she said, staving off any further queries. "I doubt we'll do much in class beyond the fourth power this year, and usually only squares."

"I don't know," said Roger. "I think spellcrafting might use higher powers."

"Huh…well, that might get complicated, then. Hmm…I wonder…Can you hold on a minute? I want to take a quick look at the library's copy of _Principles of Analytic Spellcrafting._"

"Um…sure." Alicia said.

Hermione eagerly rose to head off to the library's textbook reserves.

The older girl giggled after she left: "She's so cute."

"Never stops, that one," Roger added with a chuckle.

"I know. I love how she just runs all over the place like that."

"Okay, she's not a cat, Alicia," Cedric said.

"I don't know," Roger joked. "I'm not completely convinced she's human."

"Alright, cool it, you two. She's a first year girl who just happens to be better at Arithmancy than…anyone Professor Vector has ever seen."

"Yeah, but that's the thing. Think what she'll be capable of by her seventh year. She'll probably be the youngest duelling champion ever or something."

"Hey, maybe she can finally get rid of Snape," Alicia added. All three of them laughed.

"Yeah, like _anyone_ could get rid of Snape," Cedric finally joined in. "Maybe if McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout all chased him out an upstairs window, he'd go away."

Hermione stood very still by the reserve stacks. It must be something about the acoustics of the library, she thought. They must not realise she could still hear them. She tried to shake it off. After all, it was just good-natured ribbing. But still, as nice as her Arithmancy classmates were, she couldn't entirely shake the feeling that they really did think of her as their little pet firstie—or else something exotic to be put on display—like she didn't quite fit with them.

And getting rid of Snape? If only.

As for the book, well, she only needed to flip through a few pages to find her answer: she should have known that spellcrafting would involve taking a lot of seventh powers and seventh roots. She even saw things as high as twenty-first powers in some places. She put the book back and returned to the study table, trying her best to smile as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. After all, why should she let it worry her? If the others noticed anything amiss, they didn't say it.

* * *

It happened at dinner that night. Hermione ate in her usual spot, mostly in silence aside from an occasional comment to Percy Weasley beside her. Between the main course and dessert, an impressionable second-year Gryffindor named Katie Bell came up to Percy from his other side and spoke to him.

"Excuse me, Percy," she said, holding up a small box. "Could you take a look at this please?" She stepped to the side slightly, so that she could see both Percy and Hermione.

"What is it?" he asked, taking the box.

"I'm not really sure," she said. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"Well, let's just take a look, then," he said importantly. He opened the box, and, suddenly, _something_ sprung out of it in a cloud of colourful smoke, hitting both Percy and Hermione square in the face. Hermione was momentarily blinded by the smoke and felt something like cobwebs brushing through her hair, which she tried to swat away, coughing.

When the smoke cleared, she immediately noticed two things. First, everyone around her, including Katie Bell, was laughing and pointing at her and Percy—but mostly at her. Second, Percy's normally red hair was now light brown.

"Percy—your hair—" she started.

But when Percy turned to her, his eyes went wide. "Miss Granger…" he said, pointing at her own head.

Hermione quickly pulled a handful of her hair in front of her face. "Eek!" she squealed in protest upon seeing that her frizzy brown hair had taken on the colour of Percy's usual flaming orange.

"Fred! George! What did you do?" Percy shouted rising to his feet and rushing over to where the twins were sitting. Hermione followed him.

"We're sorry, do we know you?" one of them said.

"The face looks familiar, but I just _can't _match it with that hair," the other added.

"Alright, you two, cut it out. What did you do to our hair?"

"They switched the colours, Percy," Hermione whined.

"Oh, look, Fred, it's our long-lost sister."

"Kind of creepy how much she looks like Mum."

"Ooh, she's even got the death glare down," George said upon seeing her face.

"Does anyone have a mirror?" Percy demanded, looking around at the girls at the table. One of the older girls pulled one out of her robes whilst smirking loudly. He took a look. "Oh, come on! Change it back right now!"

"Lighten up, Perce, it'll change back on it's own in a few hours," said George.

"Yeah, a few hours—overnight, tops."

Hermione looked in the mirror after Percy put it down. She wasn't exactly fashion-savvy, but she could tell that that was _not_ her colour.

"But why'd you have to involve _me_ in this?" she complained.

"Well, you're the one who decided to sit next to our brother."

"That's a _dangerous_ endeavour, that."

"And, besides, we thought you could afford to lighten up a bit, too, Miss Granger."

"Augh! I'm plenty enlightened already, thank you very much." She spun on her heel and stalked away, though she was secretly relieved that she wouldn't have to explain to her parents how she became a redhead.

That evening was not particularly pleasant, however. She had to take quite a bit of ribbing from her roommates, and she didn't dare go down to the Common Room. Tomorrow was Halloween, after all, and the jokes were coming fast and furious, on top of the obvious "Weasley sister" jokes. She also didn't get any sleep before midnight, again, when she had to go out to Astronomy class. At least it was too dark to see her hair properly there. Good God, why couldn't the magical world be more…normal?

But she was glad to see that her hair was, indeed, back to normal by morning, Having flaming orange hair for Halloween would have just been too much.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that was the only thing that would go right that entire day.

* * *

A/N: _Tsimpima_: based on the Greek for "sting".

_Mordeodigiti_: based on the Latin for "bite toes".


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Harry Potter minus JK Rowling is undefined.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

"What happened to all my socks?"

Hermione Granger awoke on Halloween morning after a short and fitful night's sleep with her hair as unmanageable as ever, but brown again. She had slept late and missed breakfast, but plenty of people did that the morning after Astronomy class. But now, she was going to be late to Charms if she couldn't get dressed soon.

"What happened?" said a bleary-eyed Lavender Brown as she pulled herself out of bed.

"I can't find a single pair of socks that match! Where did they all go?"

"I don't know. Wendelin must have taken them."

Their roommate, Lily Moon's, deranged calico cat, Wendelin, was nowhere to be seen. And of course, Lily and Sally-Anne would have cheerfully got up and headed down to breakfast two hours ago.

"Mmm…try under Lily's bed," Parvati said with a yawn.

"Hmph." Hermione knelt down beside Lily's bed and lifted the sheets. Two yellow eyes peered out at her. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the outline of feline form sitting atop a bed of socks.

"Wendelin, give those back!" She reached under the bed to grab a handful of them, but suddenly, there was a loud hiss, as a multicoloured ball of fur flew out from under the bed and across the room.

"Oww! My hand!" she shouted, holding her arm up. A bright red scratch was visible across the back of her wand hand.

Parvati looked a bit squeamish at the sight of blood, and Lavender winced. "Ooh…" she said, "well, don't worry. Madam Pomfrey can fix that up in a jiffy."

"Lily really needs to do something about that cat," Hermione complained. She wrapped her hand with some tissues while she finished getting dressed, and then ran over to the hospital wing to get her hand healed. Madam Pomfrey was sympathetic, but she barely heard anything the mediwitch said because she was more worried about getting to Charms on time, and with that detour, she barely made it.

"Ah, good morning, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick pleasantly said from atop his stack of books as she rushed in and took the only open seat. "And good morning class. Now that we're all here, I do believe that you are ready to begin making objects fly today." There were some excited murmurs from the class. "Levitation is one of a wizard's most rudimentary skills, _but_ it is also one of the first serious challenges you will learn in this class. The Levitiation Charm requires a good deal more control that a simple _Lumos_ or Fire-Lighting Spell that only releases energy, and it also requires more control than simple charms like the Softening Charm that are simply cast once and are done. The Levitation Charm requires _continuous_ control for as long as the object you are levitating is in the air and can often take quite a bit of practice to produce any results."

Hermione hadn't really thought of that part. She was pretty far ahead in studying the _Standard Book of Spells_, and there were the spells they used in Arithmancy, but she hadn't tried anything yet in either that required continuous control.

Professor Flitwick spent quite a bit longer than usual, more than half the class, explaining just how the Levitation Charm worked and how to cast it, having them practice the wand movements at several points. At eight syllables, _Wingardium Leviosa_ was one of the longest incantations they had learnt, and lining it up with the swish and flick motion was tricky. But by the time they moved on to the practicals, Hermione was pretty confident in her ability to cast the spell.

"We'll do this in pairs, so that one of you can act as a spotter," Flitwick said as he began to levitate feathers to the students' desks. "This charm can be temperamental to those who are first learning it. Now, then, Mr. Potter and Mr. Finnigan, I think."

Hermione looked to where the boys were sitting. Harry Potter looked relieved and Neville Longbottom, who had been looking in his direction, looked dismayed.

"And Mr. Longbottom with Mr. Thomas."

She wouldn't be paired with Dean? Her eyes swept over where everyone was sitting and made the connection. _Oh no!_

"And Mr. Weasley with Miss Granger."

Ron groaned loudly, and Hermione nearly did herself. This was just _not_ her week.

Ron scooted his seat nearer to hers as Professor placed a feather on their desk.

"Um…hey…" he said.

"Hey," she replied wearily.

"Your, uh, your hair's back to normal, now," Ron told her.

"Thanks for noticing," Hermione grumbled.

"Hey, I know Fred and George can be annoying, but they never do anything _really _bad to anyone who doesn't deserve it."

She rolled her eyes at the boy. "Yeah, that's _so _reassuring."

"Now remember to put all the parts together," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "Be sure to use that nice wrist movement to let the magic flow freely—swish and flick, swish and flick. And saying the incantation correctly is just as important. Remember, the incantation triggers the specific action of the magic, and things can go very wrong if you don't say it just right. Don't forget the story of Juan Carlos Baruffio, who scored a knockout on himself in the 1957 World Duelling Championships when he said 's' instead of 'f' and dropped a buffalo on his own chest."

The class giggled and shuddered in equal amounts at one of Professor Flitwick's many humorous stories from his days on the duelling circuit. If that were really true, that had to say _something_ bizarre about how magic worked, Hermione thought. After all, why would a slip of the tongue produce a spell so powerful that most wizards probably couldn't do it deliberately, even if it _was_ very rare? It was something to investigate in Arithmancy later.

She watched around the room as people began trying to cast the Levitation Charm, without much success. At the next desk, Harry and Seamus both swished and flicked, but their feather didn't even twitch.

Hermione suppressed a yawn. "Why don't you go first," she said wearily.

"Sure, uh, thanks."

Ron tried to swish and flick, but he didn't produce any results either. She let him go on a few times, just watching to make sure he didn't do anything "temperamental". She wondered how she had got to this point. She'd barely spoken to the boy since the dog incident—or his friend, Harry, for that matter—and largely by choice. Percy was pretty good, and the Twins at least tried to be helpful in the own bizarre and, frankly, troublesome way, but she hadn't seen anything to improve her opinion of Ron all year.

But then again, she was starting to feel a little conflicted about thinking that. After all, she'd barely talked to Ron and Harry _before_ that night, let alone after it. Sure, they were dumb and reckless—scratch that, they were _boys_. She mentally rolled her eyes. But those two objectively didn't get in anywhere near as much trouble as Fred and George, and their troublemaking was what had really rubbed her the wrong way in the first place…well, that, and Ron _was_ pretty short with her when she'd tried to talk to him before. Still, she wasn't sure if they duo had got in _any_ trouble since then. None that she'd heard about, anyway, and from the sounds of things, Harry was too busy with Quidditch practice for that.

No, her problem lately was that she didn't feel like dealing with people. Exactly why was hard to articulate—they were an extra element of uncertainty in her precariously balanced life. She thought back to the half-burnt letter her parents had sent her on Tuesday. They had sounded so concerned about her, even though she hadn't told them half of what was going on. She supposed they were right—it was so hard to find anyone to talk to—but she was worried about very different things, like getting her course work done.

And at the moment, she also had to worry about Ron, who was still waving his wand in a very unsteady pattern that certainly wouldn't get the spell to work.

"It's more of J-shape on the swish," Hermione said offhandedly.

Ron gave an annoyed-sounding grunt and started swinging his arm in a very wide arc.

"Y-you know…I guess that prank _was_ kind of funny," she tried to make small talk. "I was just worried I was going to have to explain it to my parents."

"Uh huh," he said. She didn't think he was listening to her, not that it much mattered. He kept swinging his arm in a wide arc.

"You really shouldn't swing your arm that far. It's more of a wrist movement."

They were interrupted by a shout from Harry's and Seamus's desk. Seamus had hit their feather with his wand and set it on fire. Harry quickly put it out with his hat.

Ron turned back to his own feather.

"Wingar-_di_-um Leviso-_sa!_" He shouted it this time and flailed his long arms, nearly hitting Hermione in the face.

She forced his arm down by the wrist. "Ron! You're saying it wrong!" she snapped. "And you're going to put someone's eye out." _Like mine_. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa. You need to swish from your wrist, and make the 'gar' nice and long while you're doing it."

Ron turned to her and positively snarled, "If you're so clever, do it yourself, then."

"Fine." She rolled up her sleeve and held her wand aloft. Carefully feeling the magic flow through it, she swished it in front of her in a backwards-J shape and then quickly flicked it toward the feather. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," she pronounced.

The feather slowly rose off their desk, picking up speed as it went higher and finally coming to rest fluttering freely about four feet over her head.

Professor Flitwick clapped his had. "Excellent, excellent!" he squeak. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's got it working—That's it, now focus on holding it steady…"

Hermione smiled weakly at the praise, but Ron was still scowling.

"See, it's not that hard," she told him curtly. "Just be careful to follow the steps closely."

Ron just scoffed at her, but between her and Professor Flitwick, and later Harry, who was watching both of them closely and soon got the charm working himself, they got Ron through all the steps by the end of the class. But he still only made the feather hop and flip over, and Professor Flitwick recommended some more practise to get it just right.

Predictably, Ron was in a very bad mood by the time they left class to head down to lunch. Granted, Hermione wasn't in a very good mood, either, but at least she was quieter about it. As the two boys pushed their way into the crowded corridor, she started to follow in the gap behind them with the rest of the class. Ron was still going at it.

"'Make the "gar" nice and long…' _Completely _mental, I'm telling you. I don't get how anyone can stand her."

_Well, you're not so friendly yourself_, she thought. She pushed her way passed the pair in annoyance, nearly tripping over Harry's feet on the way.

Harry might have misread her a bit because he said, "I think she heard you."

"So?" Ron replied. "It's obvious she likes being alone all the time."

She very nearly whirled around with an indignant protest, but the words died on her lips in the very act of thinking them. Could she really deny it at this point? Could she, with as many times as she'd thought to herself that she didn't want to deal with people right now in the past few weeks?

And then, suddenly forced to confront things she had buried so deep, Hermione felt something crack. Something that had building up inside her all month—maybe all year—broke free, and her tears started flowing freely before she even knew what had happened. She didn't understand how it had come upon her so suddenly, but she felt like she'd just taken a hard blow to her chest, and she had to get someplace more private right now.

She started walking faster and then broke into a run. She could barely see to find the nearest girls' bathroom, but she remembered the layout of the castle pretty well by now. She found the door and dashed inside and back to the last stall. Safely away from the eyes of the world, she slumped against the wall and sank down to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and sobbing uncontrollably.

She didn't know how long she was in that state—just crying it out. She couldn't stop it—couldn't even think coherently for quite a while. She only knew that by the time she could breathe again and take stock of her surroundings, she was already exhausted from the tears and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and not get up until Monday, but she couldn't even think about dragging herself all the way up to her dorm right now, and please, God, what was _wrong_ with her?

It was quiet now, aside from her continued sniffling. There had been a couple of older girls she didn't recognise in the bathroom when she had run in, but they seemed to have left without questioning her, for which she was mostly relieved.

She stared up at the high ceiling, wondering what time it was. In her haste that morning, she had forgotten to wear her watch. She was surely missing lunch, but she didn't care right now. She wasn't hungry. She felt the tears coming on again as she finally thought back on what Ron had said, on her whole stupid week, on her whole year so far, really. Where had it all gone wrong?

What was wrong with her?

She couldn't do this anymore.

She lowered her head and covered her face with her arms. Maybe she should just stay here a while longer.

* * *

Septima Vector looked out over her third year class and saw, to her surprise, that her top pupil was not there. As far as she knew, Hermione Granger had never missed _any_ class before, and she was pretty sure she would have heard of it if she had. It could be for any number of reasons, of course, but it did give her cause for concern.

"Miss Spinnet, where is Miss Granger?" she asked.

"I don't know, Professor," Alicia said, looking uncomfortable. "Um…Fred told me at lunch he thought his little brother said something that upset her, but I don't know where she went."

"Hmm…" she sighed. Children could be so cruel sometimes. She could tell the girl had been having difficulties already. Still, there was nothing she could do right now. "Well, the next time you see her, please tell her to come and see me so that she can pick up her assignments."

"Yes, Professor."

* * *

Hermione had barely moved from her spot slumped against the back wall of the loo. She'd sat atop the toilet lid, laid flat on the floor, and leaned with her forehead against the wall at times, shifting whenever her legs got too stiff. She ventured out of the stall only once, to wash her face, but she was discouraged by how dishevelled and puffy-eyed she looked in the mirror and quickly ducked back inside, alone with her thoughts.

"_I'd know that ridiculous bushy hair anywhere."_

"_You'll pay for that, mudblood!"_

"_Somebody needs to show you your place."_

She couldn't do this anymore.

She'd been called names before. Not outright slurs, but there were always a few people who would make fun of her unmanageable hair or her over-sized teeth, or, more recently, about how "plain" she was, and worse than that, too. Back in Year 3 of primary, a few of the boys started calling her a "freak" because she was getting maths tutoring and doing things like long division and multiplying large numbers. She'd broken down several times and barely made it through that year with a lot of support from her parents. It was the only time before now that they'd considered switching her to a different school, but the next year was when she skipped to Year 5, and everything was fine again, and she'd learnt to develop a thicker skin since then.

She ought to be able to handle bullies by now, even of Malfoy's calibre, and if that were the only problem, she easily could have done.

_The hell-hound on the third floor._

_Malfoy jinxing her in the corridors._

_Anything involving the Weasley Twins._

She couldn't do this anymore.

Her parents had always been there for her, and they still gave her all the support they could, of course, but she felt like she couldn't fall back on them anymore. Not like before. It was more than just that she was away from home. She hadn't told them half of what was going on around here. There were so many things that she felt like she couldn't—that they wouldn't understand. She didn't understand herself. It was maybe for the same reasons that she wasn't completely comfortable talking to any of the professors, not to mention that parts of it could get her in trouble. But after week after week of this, it just felt so isolating, and she was having enough trouble with that as it was.

"_You keep to yourself, and you are separate from all others."_

"_I _do_ expect you to stay awake in my class."_

"_Must get lonely, though, don't it?"_

"_What do normal girls talk about, anyway?"_

_Chronic sleep deprivation._

"_You don't seem to be all that close with your classmates."_

_Barely being able to keep up with her homework._

"_I don't know, I'm not completely convinced she's human."_

_Not really even wanting to talk to anyone about it anyway._

She couldn't do this anymore.

It wasn't what Ron had said that had sent her over the edge. She'd been called a lot worse before.

No, what really got to her was how much of it was true, and what really ate her up inside was how much she had brought this on herself.

She'd promised her parents that she'd make some friends here. Sure, she was naturally shy, sometimes painfully so, but it wasn't anything she hadn't done before. She'd always managed to make a couple of friends, even through the worst of it. But how had she fared at Hogwarts in these past two months? Her roommates were kind of her friends, even though they had nothing in common. There was her Arithmancy study group—the same class she was missing right now! She almost leapt up and ran to the classroom right then, but she didn't. She couldn't bear the shame of walking in there like this—of facing Alicia, Cedric, and Roger dazed, red-eyed, and tearful—of facing _Professor Vector_ like that. She shuddered and curled up tighter in the corner.

Still, objectively, she could reasonably call her study group her friends. Of course, she didn't have a lot else in common with them, either. Alicia, Cedric, and Roger were all Quidditch fiends, and she had little to no interest in sports of any kind. They were also two grades ahead of her. They were taking different classes, they could go to Hogsmeade, they were starting to think about dating, and, most of all, they had all been raised in the wizarding culture. As nice as they were, she felt like there was a gap she just couldn't cross. (Not to mention how Roger kept calling her the "human slide-rule".)

But why was she pushing them away so much lately? She'd got off to a good start and made some friends, and then everything fell apart. She closed herself off in her own little world that she loved and hated at the same time. She stopped talking to people, drowned her sorrows in books, and all but stopped sleeping. She was acutely aware that it wasn't academically or psychologically sustainable, but she'd gone so deep into it that she didn't know how to get out anymore.

She felt like she could barely say she had friends now, and it was her own stupid fault.

What was _wrong_ with her?

She couldn't _do_ this anymore.

She couldn't do this _to herself_ anymore, and she had no idea how to fix it.

She kept sitting against the back wall, crying off and on.

* * *

"Hey, Brown, Patil," Alicia Spinnet said on her way back from checking the library. "You two are Hermione's roommates. Have you seen her lately?"

Lavender and Parvati turned around. "Not since Charms. Is something wrong?" Lavender said.

"I don't know. She wasn't in Arithmancy, and that's not like her. I didn't think she'd miss that class for anything."

"She missed Arithmancy?" Lavender said, surprised. "Wow, I know Ron was being a real git to her after Charms, but I didn't think she'd take it that bad."

"I don't know," Parvati countered. "She's been really distant lately. Maybe it's something else."

"Well, either way, if you see her, tell her Professor Vector wants to talk to her—and…just make sure she's alright," Alicia said, sounding concerned. "I've been getting worried about her, too."

"Sure thing. We'll keep an eye out."

* * *

It was by pure luck that Parvati noticed anything out of the ordinary when she wandered into the first floor girls' loo in the East Wing. It wasn't much—just a soft sound of sniffling coming from the back. She approached the last stall and saw someone sitting on the floor behind the door. Someone wearing trainers. Only a handful of girls in the school wore shoes like that.

"Hermione, is that you?"

A small, tortured squeak came from behind the door. "Go away!" a familiar voice whimpered.

"Hermione, it's me, Parvati." There was no response. "Are you okay? Alicia Spinnet said you missed class."

"Leave me alone!"

"Have you been here all afternoon? Is this about what Ron said. You shouldn't worry about him. You know he can be a right bloody git sometimes."

"Please, Parvati, I just need some time alone to think," Hermione said, her voice hitching with tears.

Parvati frowned. There didn't seem to be much more she could do from here. "Well, okay, Hermione. Just remember to come down for dinner. And if you want to talk to us girls—about anything—you can. We do worry about you. Oh, and Professor Vector wants to see you when you have a chance."

Hermione sniffed loudly. "Thanks, Parvati," she whined halfheartedly.

Parvati left the bathroom, feeling defeated.

* * *

As Professor Vector looked out over the Halloween Feast, she was one of the few people who was not celebrating. She scanned the Gryffindor table from end to end. That bushy brown hair was easy to spot, and she was certain Hermione Granger was not at the table. She _did_ see the other first year Gryffindor girls talking to Alicia Spinnet in hushed tones. Perhaps someone had seen her, at least. Vector even looked at the other tables, but the girl was not to be seen in Cedric Diggory's circle of friends, nor in Roger Davies's.

"Everything alright Professor?" Hagrid leaned over to ask her as the feast began.

"Oh, just worried about one of my students," she said. "I think—"

But she was cut off as Quirrell, of all people, burst through the doors of the Great Hall—she hadn't even noticed he was missing—and ran up to the High Table in front of the Headmaster, screaming, "Trooollllll in the dungeons! Troll in the dungeons! East Wing! Headed this way…" Then he gave a high-pitched squeak and muttered, "Thought you ought to know."

Quirrell toppled forwards and collapsed to the floor in a dead much for _this_ year's Defence Professor, Vector thought.

The Great Hall was pandemonium. Many students leapt to their feet and started running around like headless chickens, trying to escape, but mostly colliding with each other. Dumbledore rose from his chair and, quick as lightning, fired off a loud purple firecracker from his wand. The Hall calmed somewhat, but only when the Headmaster fired off three more firecrackers did he obtain silence.

Albus Dumbledore was rarely seen angry. It was a terrifying sight.

"Prefects, lead your Houses back to your dormitories immediately!" he thundered in a magically amplified voice. "Teachers, proceed with me to the East Wing to contain the troll."

Many students were still panicking, running around the wrong way as the prefects desperately tried to round them up. About half of the teachers left the Hall at once, headed toward the bridges into the East Wing to prevent the troll from getting to the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dorms in the West Wing dungeons. The other half were slowed down helping to corral the students. Snape seemed to be running off in a different direction entirely—Dumbledore's little side project, Vector remembered, the one he had asked her to help set up. The troll would be a perfect distraction.

But Vector was already in motion as she took all of this in. She knew for a fact that there was one student in the school who was not in the Great Hall to hear Quirrell's warning.

She rushed over to the Gryffindor first years as Percy Weasley confidently led them up the Grand Staircase. Perhaps sensing the danger, the staircase had frozen in place for once to let them pass quickly. She caught two of the girls and asked, "Quickly, do any of you know where Miss Granger is?"

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown blanched. "Oh, Merlin! Professor, she's been in the bathroom all afternoon!" Parvati exclaimed.

"Which one?"

"Uh, first floor, by the Charms Classroom."

"Stay with your prefects. I'll go find her." Vector rushed off toward the East Wing, hoping the troll was still in the dungeons. She hadn't noticed that two first year boys had already gone on ahead of her.

* * *

Hermione still sat against the back wall of the bathroom, her tears mostly spent, but still contemplating her situation bleakly. She thought she had dozed off for a little while, laying on the floor, but she couldn't even be sure of that, which she was sure was a bad sign. She'd probably missed Flying Class by now, at a guess. Was it dinnertime yet? She didn't know anymore and couldn't quite bring herself to care.

She kept sitting there and considered her options. _Why_ had her mum and dad brought up transferring? She hadn't even told them everything that was going on here, and _she_ hadn't been thinking about it at all, but now she couldn't get it out of her mind. French was the only other language she spoke well enough to get by in school, and Beauxbatons was the only other school she could go to without needing her whole family to move out of the country. If she were a pureblood, she could probably hire private tutors, but that wasn't an option in a muggle home. But all of that was moot, really. Her problem wasn't the school. It was her.

She remembered how her parents used to talk about her getting cranky when she didn't get enough sleep. It was a perfectly normal thing. It was always said half-jokingly, but she wasn't laughing now. She could see how much it was hurting her. Having nothing else to do all afternoon but stew in her own troubles, she was starting to realise how much her chronic sleep deprivation was causing it. She was always too _tired_ to deal with things, whether it was people or homework or anything that happened that was unexpected. And the worst part was that her body was mis-adjusting to it. On the occasional night when she went to bed early, she would wake up early and couldn't get to sleep again. She might actually have to work at it to change it back.

The other problem, the one that she was aware of already, but far more acutely, now, was that she had no one to confide in. Usually, she didn't want to, lately, but even someone as reserved as she was need to actually talk to people, and she'd barely even been trying lately.

She couldn't get that thought out of her head. She'd barely been trying to maintain her friendships. She'd barely been trying (by her standards) to do her homework. She _hadn't_ been trying to get a good night's sleep in weeks. And all that had to change. The problem was that she couldn't even _think_ about that right now.

She felt spent in more ways than one. For all that she was beating herself up for not trying, she _felt_ like she'd poured out everything she had, and there was just nothing left in her. Like she was just limping along, barely keeping pace where she was and not able to spare the mental energy for anything more—not because it was too hard—far from it—but because she'd already wasted too much of it to keep going.

She couldn't do this anymore.

She was jolted from her thoughts by a heavy shuffling sound followed by a door slamming, and then, a very, very foul odour filled Hermione's nostrils. It smelled, well, a lot like a toilet, actually, but one that had clogged and hadn't been cleaned all week. Thinking the only thing that came to mind—that someone had had a very unfortunate accident—she wearily opened the stall door and staggered out to see if she could help.

She stopped when she found herself face to face with a hulking wall of flesh. The creature stretched up taller than Hagrid and seems to be all lumpy torso and big, swinging arms that dragged a wooden club as large as a man behind it. It had thick folds of granite grey skin like a rhinoceros that turned horny and knobby on its huge feet. High above, a small, bald, disturbingly ape-like head sat atop its lumbering body, betraying its tiny brains. The disgusting smell that was emanating from it told her it must have abominable hygiene for anything capable of wearing trousers.

Hermione recognised the creature at once from _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

It was a mountain troll.

It was an extremely dangerous Class Four-X creature that required specialised knowledge to handle—or, in other words, to not get flattened by its giant club.

And it was coming toward her.

She screamed.

She was sure she screamed louder than she ever had in her life, and she flattened herself against the back wall, her mind a complete blank as to what to do, its proverbial gears skipping and skidding. There was nowhere to run, precious little to hide, and no weapons at hand of any kind.

Wait a minute, she was a witch, wasn't she. She whipped out her wand from her robes, forced as much magic as she could through it, and, hardly thinking about it, shouted, "_Colloshoo!_"

The Shoe-Sticking Jinx hit the troll in the knees, but it whether it was because the troll wasn't wearing shoes, or because it was just too big, it has no discernible effect.

"_Tsimpima!_" Hermione yelled. "_Tarantallegra! Locomotor Wibbly! _HELP!" Nothing worked. She just didn't have enough power; the troll was thirty times her size. It didn't react to any of her spells except to growl and advance on the source of the shouting.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the the troll advanced on her. It groaned and raised its club in anger at the noise, smashing the sinks off the walls and spraying water all over the bathroom as it approached her, step by shambling step.

This was it, she thought. There was no escape this time, no door that she could fall backwards through and run away. She couldn't fight. She couldn't even accidental magic herself out because you couldn't apparate inside Hogwarts. She was completely cornered, and there was a Class Four-X creature coming to squash her flat.

With the hell-hound, she had turned hysterical. It wasn't really that hard to get out, and there had been no time to see her life flash before her eyes. Not so now. Her wonderful memory reminded her of everything—everything, that is, except for _anything _that would get her out of this alive.

She was going to die.

_She was going to die!_

She was going to die alone and as good as friendless in a bathroom, hundreds of miles from home, at the end of the worst week—maybe of her entire life. Her parents' last memory of her would be a letter telling them that after all of two months in the magical world, she just couldn't take it, and when they found out what had happened today—_if_ they found out what had happened today—they would learn she was even more right that they thought—that it had actually killed her.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

For someone who couldn't stand to get a B on a test (or an Acceptable here at Hogwarts), there were no words to describe the feeling of facing certain death at age twelve and knowing in that moment that she had utterly failed at life. Actually, there were just no words to describe the feeling of facing certain death at age twelve in the first place. She was sure she was about to faint and was almost glad for it. It would be less painful that way—

"Hermione!"

Hermione was sure her brain had given out on her completely when she saw two people—two _boys_—run into the bathroom behind the troll—the last two people she ever expected to see: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

"Distract it!" Harry yelled. He started grabbing bits of debris from the destroyed sinks and throwing them as hard as he could at the troll's head. Ron followed suit, but the beast barely even noticed. It slowed down and looked about as if confused, then shambled forward again.

"Oy, pea brain, over here!" Ron shouted as he managed to bean the troll in the head with a broken tap. That actually did get its attention. It lumbered around, staring at Ron, making the connection in its tiny mind. Then it raised its club at him.

"Ron, watch out!" Harry yelled. Ron ducked under the club as it came down, tearing through the wooden walls of the nearest stall and knocking him to the ground under the debris.

Hermione held her breath and only let it out when she saw Ron starting to crawl out from under the debris. But that was the only coherent thought she could form before the gears of her mind jammed completely. The troll had moved away from her? What? How? How could she have been saved from imminent death by the two boys who least cared about her right now? (Well, besides Malfoy, if she had been in her right mind.)

But the troll raised its club again and—

"Ron, move!"

The troll's swing went wide as it was distracted by Harry's shouting. Harry ducked just in time to avoid having his ribcage bashed in, and the club went through what was left of the row of sinks.

"Hey!" Ron was throwing things again, standing by the stalls and desperately trying to get it away from Harry. It swung bulk around again, and Ron dove as it brought the entire row of stalls down on top of him.

But Harry used his small size to slip by behind it. "Come on, run, run!"

Hermione barely registered Harry yelling at her. Run? Run where? There was still a troll between the two of them and the door. She stayed flat against the wall and shouted an incoherent protest.

All three of them shouting at once seemed to drive the troll mad. It roared, something like a cross between a braying donkey and a howler monkey, and started swinging its club wildly—up, down, and all around it, demolishing the entire room in seconds. Splinters of wood and fragments of porcelain were hurled everywhere. Hermione's hands flew to her face to protect it. The troll lunged toward her again, and its club pounded a deep dent in the wall just over her head. Then, Ron was struggling to get out of the pile of wood chips, screaming as loud as she was as the troll made for him as if to step on him.

She was frozen in horror. She had to do something, but what? She couldn't just stand there and watch Ron die. That this was all his fault in the first place was the furthest thing from her mind right now. But her brain still wouldn't engage. Even she didn't know any spells to handle a creature that big.

Harry looked equally scared for his friend, she could see, but he did do something about it. Something incredibly stupid. He ran toward it. He took a running jump and started climbing up the troll's crudely-cut leather clothes. He was surprisingly good at climbing, but _what in God's name was he doing!_ He grabbed it around the neck from behind, but it didn't even seem to notice. It lifted its foot over Ron's prone form.

Except the troll definitely _did_ notice when its stomping about swung Harry around, and he accidentally jammed his wand up its nose. The massive foot missed Ron by inches.

There was a deafening roar as the troll howled in pain and spun around, flailing its arms. Hermione saw Harry clinging to its neck for dear life, but even more pressing was the fact that the beast was swinging its club wildly again. The bathroom was already nothing but rubble, but that didn't stop it from pounding it into even more rubble and bashing chunks off of the walls. It might catch any one of the three of them in a blink with that thing. Hermione squeezed herself back into the corner, praying it would just go away. Harry fell off its back, miraculously (and disgustingly) pulling his wand along with him. Then, she saw Ron free himself and stagger to his feet by the door. For a moment, she thought he would make a run for it—and she wouldn't blame him if he did—but instead, to her disbelief, he whirled around and drew his wand, even though he obviously had no idea what to do with it. He stood shaking, as if preparing to shout out the first spell that popped into his head, which would probably be completely useless. The troll lifted its club over its head again, preparing to pound the boy flat.

Then, Ron did the last thing she expected. He yelled out, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" And to Hermione's amazement, the troll's brutal swing seemed to bounce clumsily and went about a foot over the boy's head.

For just a moment, Hermione felt like she had some kind of dissociative episode. It was as if her right brain was registering shock that Ron managed to cast the Levitation Charm correctly at all, let along on something that big, and at the same time, her left brain made about three logical leaps in half a second.

Then, time started again. As the troll staggered from its unbalanced swing, Hermione jumped to her feet and yelled, "Quick! Everyone cast the spell at once—one—two—three!"

Harry and Ron didn't have a clue what Hermione was driving at, but at least someone had an idea. Three voices yelled out "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" with as much power as they could muster.

But mingled with those three voices was a fourth. For in a flash of burgundy robes, all of Hermione's prayers were answered. Professor Vector charged into the bathroom, and, in a single, smooth motion, spun toward the troll, pointed her wand at it, and shouted, "_Immobulus!_"

The troll froze instantly just as it held its club above its head, and, under the combined force of three adrenaline-fuelled Levitation Charms, the club actually levitated out of its hand.

Of course, all three of them were so surprised by Professor Vector showing up out of nowhere and freezing the troll that they broke their concentration. The troll's club dropped down onto its own head with a sickening crack and clattered to the floor. Harry had to roll out of the way to avoid it. Ron later told Harry and Hermione how the troll's beady eyes had glazed over and then rolled back in its head.

"Everyone out, quickly!" Vector ordered.

Hermione's deeply ingrained habit of following teachers' instructions kicked in. She found her feet at last and leapt over the rubble as fast as her legs would carry her until she was hiding safely behind her professor's robes. Harry and Ron dashed around behind her. Then, Vector released her freezing charm, and the troll fell forward with a massive thud, unconscious.

A single roll of toilet paper rolled up to Harry's feet. He picked it up and used it to wipe the disgusting grey mucus off his wand.

Vector sighed with relief. "Are all three of you alright?"

"Y-y-yes, Professor," Hermione said. Truthfully, she still felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest, but at least she was in one piece. Harry and Ron just nodded.

"Well, you're very lucky, all of you. I don't think I have to tell you at this point how dangerous mountain trolls can be," she said, surveying the destroyed lavatory. Water was still spraying everywhere, and there was barely one board or pipe standing upon another anymore. "I don't know how you pulled off that spell, but that's not a good way to stop a troll, if you can help it."

That much was obvious, they could all tell they were equally lucky that Vector had shown up when she did. They might have been able to aim the club if they'd tried, but not with the troll moving around. Harry and Ron grimaced at her words, suddenly aware that they could get in serious trouble for this, but Hermione spoke up sadly: "P-please don't punish them, Professor. They were only looking for me."

"I know, Miss Granger. I'm well aware of the situation—"

"Septima! What on earth happened here?"

In the chaos of their escape, they hadn't even noticed the bathroom door slam open a second time. The other professors had clearly heard the noise of battle all the way down in the dungeons. Professors McGonagall and Snape rushed into the room, wands drawn, only to stop in disbelief when they saw the troll out cold on the floor. Professor Quirrell stumbled in behind them, but with one look at the troll, he clutched at his chest and slumped down against the wall.

Professor McGonagall was angrier than Hermione had ever seen her—even angrier than after Harry's broomstick incident. Her lips were pressed until they turned white and she looked like she was could set something on fire with her eyes. Hermione was sure she was about to eviscerate all three of them, but Professor Vector stepped in front of them.

"Minerva, it appears that Miss Granger was indisposed and was not able to make it to the feast," she said calmly. "Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley came looking for her when the troll stumbled upon them."

"Oh, dear…" McGonagall seemed to deflate before her eyes.

"From what I could tell, Miss Granger came up with the idea to use coordinated Levitation Charms, coincidentally at the same moment that I froze the troll, resulting in it being knocked out by its own club."

McGonagall's look changed to one of shock. Snape was eyeing Harry suspiciously. The boys wisely didn't say anything about the rest of the fight.

Vector turned back to the children, who all seemed to be standing in a daze. "That was very brave of you to come to the aid of your fellow student…Ten points to each of you for helping to bring down that brute."

Ron's jaw dropped open. They were getting _points_ for this mess?

But Hermione was on the verge of tears again. "Please, Professor, I don't deserve any points," she said. "It was my fault we got caught in here."

Harry's jaw dropped open alongside Ron's. Hermione Granger was _turning down_ points?

"But you had no way of knowing a troll was on the loose, Miss Granger. _And_ you came up with a successful way to stop it—even if, I must stress, it was ill-advised, as you would know if you'd ever seen anyone handle trolls before. That was an amazingly resourceful use of your as-yet-limited magical repertoire and power." Vector placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and turned back to the other teachers. "Minerva, if you and Severus don't mind cleaning up here—" She didn't bother mentioning Quirrell. "—I'll see these three up to their Common Room."

McGonagall seemed to need a few moments to find her voice herself. "Ah, of course, Septima. And thank you so much for looking out for my students."

"My pleasure. Come along, you three."

The four of them started back toward the West Wing, with none of them really looking at each other. "Miss Granger, do please come see me tomorrow morning before classes," Vector said as they walked. "You can turn in your homework then and pick up the next assignment." She should have sounded cross, Hermione thought, but she didn't. In fact, her professor seemed surprisingly tender and understanding.

"Y-yes, ma'am—thank you." A normal person might have been angry at her for bringing up homework at a time like this, but for Hermione, it was comforting, like a return to normalcy, something she needed desperately, as her head was still spinning. She'd nearly been killed by a mountain troll, and she was saved by two boys whom she'd barely spoken to all year—whom she thought actively _disliked_ her. She'd skipped class, and she didn't get in trouble. And Professor Vector knew she'd been in there crying all afternoon and hadn't embarrassed her by mentioning it.

And through all this, she couldn't get one image out of her mind: Professor Vector storming into the bathroom like some legendary heroine and stopping the monster with a single spell. The three of them had barely squeaked through that fight with their lives, and yet she made it look easy. And then, a minute later, she was just a teacher again. Hermione didn't really have a word to describe the transformation except that it was, well, like magic. But she knew at once that she wanted to be able to do that someday.

Then, just when she thought nothing else could surprise her, Ron spoke up. She couldn't have known, but Ron was looking even more uncomfortable than he had all afternoon. "Um…sorry, Professor Vector, is it? Listen, I don't really deserve any points, either. It was my fault Hermione was in there in the first place."

"I know that quite well, Mr. Weasley," Vector said, to the boy's surprise. She gave him an approving look. "Yet you also came back to help her."

"Well, yeah…but only 'cause Harry made me."

"Mr. Weasley," Vector said firmly, "a moment ago, I saw an eleven-year-old boy stand his ground and raise his wand to a fully-grown mountain troll to save his friends, even when he had an easy escape route. You are truly a credit to your house."

"Well, I couldn't just let Hermione and Harry get flattened like that," Ron said, looking as if he wasn't sure whether to turn red or green. "Look, I'm…really sorry…" He glanced at Hermione apologetically, but he mostly kept looking at the floor. "I shouldn't have said those things. I know you were just trying to help."

And her brain jammed again. Risking his life for her and now actually _apologising_ to her? "It…it wasn't about that, really…" she started, shaking her head. "And I could have been nicer, too—"

"No, really, you weren't that bad," Ron insisted. "I couldn't've cast that charm right if you hadn't helped me. And I know there's plenty of people who like you here."

"Well…" Hermione bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. She didn't know that Ron had been hearing her friends loudly tell him just that all afternoon. But that was only half of her problem.

"And _that_, Mr. Weasley, is exactly why you _do_ deserve those points," Vector saved her. "Not just anyone could have faced a mountain troll, and sadly not everyone can own up to their mistakes like that…Well, here we are—" She stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Try to stay out of trouble the rest of the evening."

"Yes, ma'am," Ron said.

"What happened to—" the Fat Lady began.

"Pig snout," Harry cut her off. The portrait swung open, and the two boys climbed inside.

Hermione turned back to Vector. "Thank you, Professor," she said.

"My pleasure, Miss Granger. I wouldn't want to lose my best student. You know if there is anything you need, you can come speak to me anytime. Now, off you go. I'm sure you're hungry—the feast's been moved into the Common Rooms."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said, realising for the first time that she hadn't eaten anything all day, and she was, in fact, starving. She climbed in through the portrait hole.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Harry Potter = (-b+/-SQRT(b^2-4*JK Rowling))/(2a).

A/N: The past two chapters together with this one have been by far the hardest stretch of fanfic I've written. Ironically, I can relate to my version Hermione especially well here because her trials of the past few chapters are partly based on personal experience, but that made it that much harder to get it just right to fit her character, and I hope I've succeeded with that. Mainly, though, it's just a great relief to finally get this section done and published.

I would also like to note that I've yet to see a satisfactory on-stage depiction of "But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend," and this is my humble attempt. If anyone knows any good stories that do show it, I'd like to hear about them.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The Common Room was crowded and noisy. The Halloween feast had been set up on a buffet table in the middle of the room, and the couches and chairs were overflowing, with many people eating whilst sitting on the floor.

Hermione noticed a number of people staring in her direction, probably at Harry and Ron, who were looking pretty dishevelled themselves. But once her bushy head of hair ducked inside, covered in dust and tangled with little bits of rubble, _everyone_ was staring. The clamour of the fight with the troll had probably been heard clear throughout the castle, and it was easy to see now who had been involved. Before she could speak a word, Hermione found herself mobbed by three hysterical witches.

"Ohmygod Hermione are you okay?!" Hermione's mind went blank as Alicia caught her in a bone-crushing hug. Meanwhile, Lavender and Parvati both got in her face, talking nonstop so she could only catch every other word.

"Everyone was so scared of the troll—"

"We didn't even think—"

"And then Professor Vector—"

"And we were like, 'Oh, Merlin!'—"

"What happened—"

"We thought it ate you—"

"Did you get hurt—"

"Girls! Girls! I'm fine!" Hermione stammered, pushing them away to give herself some space. That probably would have been more convincing if her hands weren't still shaking. No, she'd just been through a near-death experience. She wasn't fine and probably wouldn't be for a while, but she was unhurt, anyway.

By now, Sally-Anne and Lily and Alicia's friends, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell, were crowding around to see what had happened to their fellow Gryffindor. Across the room, she could see Harry and Ron being interrogated by the boys as they loaded up her plates. She really just want to get to dinner, but she was surrounded now.

"Hermione we were so worried—what happened?" Lavender said. She started trying to comb the debris out of Hermione's hair with her fingers, which Hermione found oddly comforting. She collected herself and started talking.

"The—the troll came in the bathroom—" Several of the girls squeaked in fright. "It came after me and smashed up the sinks. None of my spells were strong enough to do anything. But then, Harry and Ron came and saved me—"

"_Ron_ saved you?" Alicia said. Lavender and Parvati looked equally shocked.

"Well, not very well," she admitted. "Then Professor Vector came in and saved all three of us…" And she explained about Harry's and Ron's incompetent rescue attempt, her lucky break with the Levitation Charms, and how Professor Vector had run in and stopped the troll in three seconds flat, and how she had defended them to the other professors.

"I can't believe you did that!" Alicia said.

"I can't believe Harry and Ron did that!" Parvati said.

"I can't believe you got thirty points!" Katie Bell added.

"I can't believe you didn't detention!" said Angelina Johnson.

"I can't believe nobody got eaten!" Lavender exclaimed.

The other first years stared at her. "Eaten?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Uh-huh, I heard a mountain troll can take your leg off with one bite." The others all grimaced.

Alicia quickly changed the subject. "Look, Hermione, about what Ron said—he's all wrong. You know we're you friends, right? Me and Cedric and Roger?"

"I…"

"And so are we," Parvati said. The other first years nodded in agreement.

"And us, too." She jumped as Fred and George Weasley were now standing over her shoulder. Those two _still _weren't her first choice, but she guessed that was nice of them.

"I…yeah," she said, breaking into a smile. She was starting to feel misty-eyed again. It was good to know she really did have that many friends, but she still didn't feel like she'd been a very good one herself. "And don't…don't be too hard on Ron," she said. They all gave her surprised looks. "Well, he already apologised—and, really, I just needed to work through some things on my own—well, a lot of things, actually." And still did, she thought, but she could worry about that when she wasn't about to faint from hunger.

"Excuse me…please…I haven't had anything to eat all day," she said timidly, hopefully deferring any further questions until later. The crowd parted for her, and she made her way to the buffet table. A great feast was laid out, like the Welcome Feast, making her mouth water. She quickly loaded up a plate with enough food to give Ron a run for his money, then looked around for a place to sit.

She saw Harry and Ron sitting on the floor in one of the emptier parts of the circular room, near the fire. She thought about how upside-down this day had been and decided it was well past time to reevaluate those two. She walked over and, still a little uneasily, sat down next to them with her plate in her lap.

"Hi…" she said. "Uh, thanks for saving me."

Harry smiled kindly. "Anytime," he said.

"You helped, too," Ron observed. "What _was_ that?"

"Well, I saw when you cast that spell, I saw the troll's club kind of bounce, so I just figured with three of us, we might be able to lift it."

"Wow—well, I'm sure glad that worked."

Hermione nodded and hesitantly took a few bites as she tried to put her thoughts into words. "I still can't believe you came for me," she said. "I mean, I've barely even spoken to you since school started."

"Well, somebody had to do it. We couldn't just leave you alone like that," Harry said. "Besides, we, uh, did kinda lock it in there with you."

"What!"

"We were gonna try and find you, but then we saw the troll go into the room and decided to trap it. We didn't realise you were in there until we heard you scream."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, we didn't even know what room it was," Ron said—or at least she thought that's what he said, since he still insisted on talking with his mouth full. It figured these two would make things worse before they made them better.

"You really _should_ pay more attention," she said in spite of herself.

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry didn't seem to mind. "Yeah, I guess," he said.

"I was kinda more worried about not getting hit with that club," Ron protested. "That thing was horrible!"

"You're telling me," Hermione squeaked. Her knife slipped and scratched loudly on her plate as she tried to steady her hands. "I thought…I was sure I was about to die before you came in."

"Yeah, and it's a good thing Professor Vector came looking for you, too. I _still_ don't know what I was trying to do casting that spell. Mind, the crazy part is it actually worked."

"I couldn't think of _any_ spells," Harry commented, remember how his best idea was to climb of the troll's back. "But that was amazing how Professor Vector froze it like that."

"I know," she exclaimed. "I've read about things like that, but I've never seen anything like it. I've _got_ to learn how to do that spell."

"Me too," Ron added. "My brother, Bill, he had to be really good at arithmancy and stuff to become a curse-breaker, but I thought _that_ kind of stuff was all in Defence."

"Your brother's a curse-breaker?" she said interestedly.

"Uh huh. He works for Gringotts in Egypt getting the curses off all the old tombs and stuff."

Hermione was duly impressed. She'd heard Ron talk about his brothers before, but never paid it much mind. But Professor Vector said curse-breaking was some of the most difficult magic there was. It would take someone really good to do it for a living.

"Hey, Hermione, that reminds me. Did I tell you about that package Hagrid got from Gringotts?" said Harry.

She shook her head. "I think I was trying not to listen."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, it's fine. Go ahead and tell me about it."

"Well, when Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley, we got some money from my vault in Gringotts, and then we went to this other vault that was really high security, but there was only one little thing in there. It was wrapped in brown paper, and it was about this big." Harry indicated something that was small enough to fit in his hand. "And Hagrid took it out, and he said it was very secret Hogwarts business, and he wouldn't tell me what it was. But I read in the newspaper that someone tried to rob a vault that had just been emptied later that _same day_."

"So you think the dog is guarding whatever was in the vault?"

"Yeah. Hagrid said Gringotts is the safest place to keep something _except Hogwarts_."

"You—you haven't gone back in there, have you?" Hermione asked nervously.

"No. Of course not. I mean, if Hogwarts is really that safe, it's not like it's in any danger, right?"

"I wonder what Snape was doing, though," Ron mused.

"Snape?" said Hermione.

"We saw him headed towards he third floor when we came to find you," said Harry.

"Huh. That's odd. I don't know what someone would be doing _there_ at a time like that. I wonder what's so valuable that they'd have to keep it here like that."

"Or so dangerous," Ron suggested.

"Or that. It's probably some kind of jewel or talisman or something if it's that small. Maybe we could research it and narrow it down."

"What, more homework? I'll pass," Ron protested. "I don't get how _you_ do it. You've already got an extra class."

"Arithmancy's not that hard…" Hermione protested. Of course, she realised, she'd been telling her muggle friends that about maths for years and still hadn't convinced them.

"Maybe for you. How you get so good at Arithmancy, anyway?"

"Just practice…and a little luck, I guess. I've always been able to do maths well, as long as I can remember. Anyway, I think we should try to find it out. It could be important."

"Then why don't you do it. It doesn't really matter, does it? Whatever the thing is, it's safe, right?"

"Well, I just thought…" She stopped and sighed. "Sorry. I know I can be a bossy know-it-all sometimes."

"You're not that bad, really," Harry said. "Though you _can_ go a little overboard—I was pretty mad when you kept interfering that day with the duel and stuff, but that was 'cause I really hate Malfoy. You _were_ just trying to keep us out of trouble. And you _were_ right about Malfoy's trick."

"Oh, yeah, Malfoy," Hermione grumbled.

"Now _there's_ somebody I wouldn't mind seeing attacked by a troll," Ron said, and Hermione had a hard time disagreeing. Harry laughed a little.

"Yeah, he's been really awful all year," Harry said. "To you, too, Hermione. I saw him sabotage your potion last week."

"Uh huh," she agreed. "He's even worse than that, though. He actually hexed me in the back once."

"What!" Harry yelled. "When did he do that?" Ron choked on his steak.

"Do you remember when I was making my map of the castle?"

Ron scrunched up his face, trying to remember. "Uh, yeah, I think Fred and George said something about it…How'd that go, anyway?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I think I got most of the school that students are allowed in, but the measurements keep changing, so it's not exact."

"You mean the castle changes shape?" Harry said in surprise.

"Of course it does, mate. It's magic," Ron said, as if it were obvious. "So what happened with Malfoy, then?"

"Well, I was mapping out the dungeons when he saw me and accused me of spying on Slytherin. And then he used a Jelly-Legs Jinx on me."

"Aw, man, what'd you do?"

"Nothing," she said in embarrassment. "A Hufflepuff prefect saved me."

"That little git! You want us to hex him for you?" Ron asked.

"No! That'll just make it worse. He already jinxed me and got me in more trouble after Potions last week. And he accused me of setting Fred and George on him on Tuesday. I just want him to leave me alone. I don't get what his problem is."

"It's his whole family," Ron said. "Dad says Malfoy's family's been really anti-muggle pretty much forever."

"His family should have just stayed in France, then," Hermione complained.

"Maybe the French kicked them out," Ron joked. "You know, they said, _'Ne jamais faire confiance __à__ un mec dont le nom signifie mauvaise foi.' _"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "_Tu parles fran__ç__ais?_"

"_Oui,_" he shrugged.

"Uh, sorry. I don't," Harry said.

"He said, 'Never trust a bloke whose name means bad faith,'" Hermione explained. Harry smirked. "When did you learn French?"

"Mum made us all learn when we were little," Ron replied. He sounded annoyed about it. "I guess Mum and Dad were thinking about moving to France during the war, and they still wanted all us kids to learn it, 'just in case'. A little German, too, though I don't know why. The Weasleys would never be caught dead at Durmstrang."

"You speak three languages?"

Ron shook his head. "Mostly just the two, but I guess I know enough German and Spanish in case I got lost there or something."

"_¿Oh, has estado en España?_"

"_Um, no, no, uh, viajan mucho_—? Sorry—we don't travel much."

"_Viajamos_," Hermione corrected absently.

"Uh, right. Mum and Dad go to visit Bill or Charlie once in a while, but they can't…we can't really…" Ron started turning red as the conversation drifted a little too close to home— Hermione could tell he got a lot of his things secondhand. "So how'd _you_ learn so many languages?" he asked her.

"My, uh, my parents like to travel." She felt like she should leave it at that. "I'm probably not that much better at Spanish than you are, though."

"I have enough trouble with just English," Harry said uneasily.

"Well, French isn't that hard," Ron said, surprising Hermione, who didn't expect him to describe anything that way.

"So…What were you making that map for, anyway?" asked Harry.

"Just to find my way around—and to show my parents what the castle is like. It's so confusing here with all the hidden doors and moving staircases. It seemed silly that they couldn't give us maps to at least show us where everything is."

"Yeah, that would be nice," Harry said.

"We almost got busted by Filch our first day because we got lost by the third floor corridor," Ron added.

"Me too! They need to put up a sign or something. Anyway, after we met that dog, I memorised as much of the castle as I could so it wouldn't happen again."

"The whole castle?"

"Everything on my map," she confirmed. "There are some parts I still don't know anything about."

"Like the third floor," Harry said.

"That's one of them. And some of the towers are always locked. And…um, have you ever looked at the Great Hall from outside?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Yeah, I guess," Harry replied.

"Have you seen the little windows on top?"

Both boys shook their heads.

"Well, they're there. I'm sure they're above the enchanted ceiling, but no one seems to know how to get up there or even _what's_ up there. Even Fred and George didn't know."

Ron looked suitably surprised. "They didn't? I thought they knew everything."

"So did I, but they couldn't find out anything about them. I was gonna try and find a way up there myself, but I…haven't got around to it yet."

"We could help you out," Harry suggested.

"Really?" Hermione's eyes went a little wider.

"Sure—when we can, anyway. I've got a lot of Quidditch practice for the match next week."

"Oh, right, Alicia's been going on about it…"

Harry was obviously very excited about the first Quidditch match, as was most of Gryffindor, since it had been so long since they'd been able to field a competitive team. Hermione politely sat through Harry's and Ron's detailed description of exactly how Quidditch worked. She still thought the part with the snitch was more than a bit silly—it almost seemed as if it were designed to be deliberately frustrating—but she held her tongue out of respect for the boys' obvious enthusiasm.

They talked for a long time about nothing in particular. They tried to talk about their families—what they could, anyway. Ron was from a wizarding family, so neither Harry nor Hermione understood the finer points of that; only Harry knew what a dentist was or understood much else that Hermione had to say about her parents; and Harry didn't want to talk about his relatives, who, from what Hermione could gather, didn't sound very nice.

Still they kept at it, moving on to books and films and plays, although they didn't have a lot they could share there either. Ron didn't seem to be much of a reader, even of wizarding books, and Harry had apparently led an extremely sheltered childhood. Objectively, she really didn't have much more in common with these two than she did with Parvati and Lavender…except that they _did_ just face a mountain troll together. That definitely counted for something, so she didn't mind so much, now. Honestly, she felt like she didn't mind all that much about the girls at the moment, either. Maybe it _was_ just a matter of perspective.

The plates were taken away after a while, and a while after that, people started heading up to bed, but the three of them kept talking, oblivious. They went on for a while about classes and what a greasy git Snape was, and Hermione told them about Professor Vector and the basics (very basics) of Arithmancy, and there was another round of speculation about how the troll got into the castle and just what was hidden on the third floor and whether it could possibly be related (which they dismissed as ridiculous), and a lot of other, less important things that none of the three would remember anything about in the morning.

And as they sat and talked, the pieces of Hermione's life slowly seemed to fall back into place, and she felt the tension slowly drain out of her limbs for what felt like the first time in weeks. She was utterly exhausted, but that wasn't what did it. Indeed, it was when the darkness closed in late at night, and she couldn't fight back sleep anymore whether she wanted to or not, that she agonised most over everything. But tonight, even though she was dead tired, she kept talking because tomorrow—tomorrow, she would worry about getting enough sleep, and fixing everything else, too. And she would need to worry about it, she knew, but for tonight, she was just going to not worry about any of it and just celebrate still being alive. And, she found, she was actually having fun with it.

Parvati and Lavender had said good night and gone up to bed an hour ago. They clearly wanted to talk some more, but they gave her her space for the time being. The Common Room was nearly empty by now, and a tired-looking Alicia came up and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione, I'm going to bed. Are you doing okay?" she asked.

Hermione's brain derailed for a moment. "Yes…" she said instinctively. "No…I don't know—I'm sorry, I just need some time. It's been a hard week."

"Okay, well, we can talk tomorrow if you want," Alicia assured her. "And don't stay up too late. You don't want to miss any more class—that goes the same for you, too," she told Harry. "We don't need you getting in any trouble before the match."

"Oh, bloody hell, that's right, we have Potions tomorrow," exclaimed Ron. Harry looked genuinely frightened at the thought. Professor Snape _did_ seem to be harder on Harry than everyone else.

"We'd better get to bed," Harry agreed. He stood up slowly and leaned against a sofa. "What do you think we'll be brewing?"

"Probably a Dizziness Draught, based on how Professor Snape's been following the book," Hermione suggested, standing up herself and leaning on a chair.

"Aw, man, I didn't even look at that one," Ron whined.

"Me either," Harry said nervously.

"I have," Hermione said. "Hey, do you want to, um, switch partners in class tomorrow? I don't think Dean will mind, and we're both getting pretty good."

"Really?" Ron said hopefully.

"Are you sure?" Harry added. "I mean, you said you've been having a hard week."

"It's nothing, really. It's not that hard to follow the instructions."

"Wow…sure, thanks."

"Yeah, that's real nice of you, after…" Ron started. "I'm sorry—again."

"Well, you _did_ save me."

"Yeah, but it was my fault in the first place."

She sat down and curled up defensively in the chair, and she shook her head dismissively. "It wasn't _just_ that. Actually, it mostly wasn't that at all. I've just been having a really awful week—there was Snape, and Malfoy, and the pranks, and my study group was—well, that's not important. And I've been sleeping very poorly. I've been losing track of time, losing focus—"

"But you're still getting the best marks in our year," Ron protested.

"I know, but it's got harder and harder for me to keep up. I think I just need to back off the late night reading and get more sleep, but the stress has really been getting to me. It makes everything that much harder. And that's not all. There's so many things I can't tell my parents or the teachers, or even other students, some of it—like about the third floor. You two and Neville are the only ones who know about it. It's hard not having anyone I can talk to." She kept looking at Ron and fought to keep her hands from shaking. "That's the thing, Ron, I really snapped at you in class because I was already under so much stress from everything else. And then when you…said that about me…"

"I'm sorry—" Ron blurted out.

"I know, it's just…when you said that…it hurt so much because you were right." She clutched at the arms of the chair, fighting back tears. She couldn't believe she was saying this out loud, much less to these two, but it felt so good to get this weight off her shoulders. "I've been spending all my time alone, and I just couldn't take it anymore…And I think my real problem was I was being a lot harder on myself than you were…Anyway, I'm sure Alicia and the others will set me straight if I actually let them…It's good to know I do have friends to help out here."

"I'll say you do," Ron half-complained. "They've been setting _me_ straight all day…Mind, I _was_ being pretty stupid," he admitted, sitting back down again. "I knew the Twins liked you and stuff…I guess I was just really mad 'cause I couldn't do that spell. It's hard, you know? Having five older brothers. Bill was head boy, and Charlie was Quidditch captain. And Percy's a prefect, and even Fred and George get really good marks when they try. Everyone expects me to be like them—including the teachers—but even if I do get good marks, it's no big deal because they did it first. So when you beat me at doing that spell in class…" He trailed off, turning an unnaturally bright red in the firelight.

"You were jealous?" Harry suggested.

"Yeah, I guess. I was mad, anyway. Mum's always yelling at me about it and saying how I need to apply myself more if I want to do as well as them…She's gonna go spare when she hears about this."

Hermione thought Ron's mother had a point, but she kept that to herself. Still, that was unusually deep for the redheaded boy, undoubtedly brought on by being told just how big a git he was all day, but the sounds of it.

"Well…my cousin's a lot worse," Harry said uneasily as he tried to cheer Ron up. "He always said I was cheating if I got a better grade than him, and my aunt and uncle would take his side. I got really good at getting by with a D-plus."

Ron smirked a little, evidently have heard about Harry's family.

"Harry, no offence, but your relatives really do sound awful," said Hermione.

"Yeah, but it's alright. They can't bother me here, and they don't like magic, so they don't care what grades I get."

Hermione thought that sounded like one of the most dysfunctional families she'd ever heard of, but Harry didn't seem too keen to say anymore. When she tried, he turned it into a joke and changed the subject. Still, he didn't _look_ that troubled about it. Maybe being away from them really was enough for him. Ron could open up a little more, but with Harry's unique situation and Hermione being an only child, they didn't have much to reply to him.

But then Ron asked about the Dizziness Draught, and one thing led to another, and, somehow, they managed to stay up and talk for another hour. On any other night, Hermione would have been having a fit over losing track of the time yet again, but tonight, she was okay with it. It was her choice, for once, and that, it seemed, made all the difference. She was a little surprised that she'd told the boys so much. But at the same time, she was a little surprised they'd been so open with her—maybe it was the late hour messing with all three of them, she thought. Still, it felt nice being able to talk to someone for a change and not having to keep secrets.

Actually, she felt very strange: giddy and tired and turned on her head all at the same time. Even though not much had objectively changed, something made her look at things differently—like all those friends who had crowded around her when she came into the Common Room. Now that she could finally look at things in a better way, she felt much lighter. And yes, she _did_ need get more sleep, and she needed to talk to people and socialise more, too, but, surprisingly, even that fact was a comfort now that she understood it properly. Now that she knew what was really the matter, she was sure she could fix it.

And then there were Harry and Ron—the boys who were Gryffindor enough to save her from a mountain troll when she was barely speaking to them—she still had to wonder about the Sorting Hat's judgement when her main contribution had been to be Ravenclaw enough to come up with a half-decent plan to get them out of it. In any case, if she thought about it, she could relate to them no worse than her roommates, and they got in less trouble than the Twins. She had to conclude they really weren't that bad at all.

The Common Room clock chimed twelve, and Harry and Ron finally stood back up, again looking a little worried about finishing so late on a Potions night.

"I guess we really _had_ better get to bed," Harry said.

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed. "Snape's bad enough when I've got enough sleep."

"Yeah, we should," Hermione said.

There was an awkward pause.

"So…friends?" Harry said, looking at both of them—but mostly at her.

She froze. Harry smiled disarmingly. She looked to Ron, who had been more put off by her know-it-all-ness. The boy nodded slightly at Harry, then looked at her.

Hermione smiled. "Yes," she agreed. "Friends."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: For every Harry Potter there exists a JK Rowling such that JK Rowling is the owner of Harry Potter.

A/N: Yes, I'm sure I butchered the Middle English. The spelling is phonetic, not historical. That was about the best I could do quickly from what I could find about the Great Vowel Shift.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

"Does someone want to explain how a mountain troll got into the castle?" Septima Vector demanded as soon as she came into the emergency staff meeting the next morning, and she wasn't the only one. Minerva had even more right to be angry than Septima, since it was three of her students who had been endangered. And Hermione Granger was the favourite of many of the teachers, with the exception of Severus.

No one bothered asking why the Defence Professor had fainted at the sight of a troll. _That_ was almost to be expected these days.

"I think were would _all_ like to know that, Septima," Minerva said acidly, glaring at Quirrell. Once again, if any sort of disaster happened, it was the Defence Professor who was usually the first suspect.

But now, the Headmaster approached the table. "I inspected the wards myself last night," he said grimly. "The troll entered the castle from the ravine through the drainage tunnels in the sub-basement. From there, it began climbing, eventually reaching the first floor washrooms.

"But why didn't the wards alert us when it entered the grounds, much less the castle?" Minerva protested.

"The wards had been specifically opened to permit trolls to pass through without report," the Headmaster said, to the surprise of most of the table. "Quirinus, do you have anything to say about that?"

Quirrell turned even paler than usual and started stammering fearfully: "I-I-I opened the w-w-wards to b-bring in a…t-t-troll—" his voice squeaked loudly "—for the p-p-protections on the Stone…I m-m-m-must n-not have c-closed them p-properly," he whimpered.

About half the staff groaned and laid their heads on their hands. Severus glared at Quirrell suspiciously. The Defence Professor had taught Muggle Studies for years, but taking a year off and switching positions was a quick way to get turned into an outsider. After all, with the apparent curse on the position, they already knew he probably wouldn't be around next year. Septima felt a bit sorry for him at times, but not anymore. Actuallyt, she had to wonder how a troll would be that big of an obstacle in the first place, but if it were charmed magic-resistant, it might be.

"Your 'mistake' nearly got three of my first-year students killed, Quirinus" Minerva hissed, slipping deeper into her Scottish brogue. "Frankly, you're lucky we don't have anyone to replace you at the moment, or you'd be out of here by the end of the day."

"As it is, that is not possible," Albus said gently. "I resealed the anti-troll wards last night and checked all the other wards for good measure. The castle is once again secure."

"Secure against anything but more incompetence," Bathsheda Babbling commented.

"There is another issue to be addressed," Septima said harshly. "I move that we review our emergency procedures. In the chaos last night, only I and two of Miss Granger's classmates remembered that she was not at the feast. It is unacceptable that we would lose track of a student like that. Miss Granger's extraordinary arithmancy skills might well have saved her life, since it seems no one else remembered to look for her." Minerva turned noticeably pink at that. "The prefects should be required to do a head count in such a situation and report anyone who is missing."

Filius and Pomona instantly agreed to that, and the motion carried quickly, with the three of them drafted to make the review.

"Very good," Albus concluded. "Now, Severus, I believe you had an additional security concern?"

"Yes," the Potions Master said. "Letting the troll into the castle would have been the perfect distraction for someone to try to steal the Stone. Perhaps a mission of opportunity, or perhaps not." He glared at Quirrell again.

"Y-yes, I had the same c-concern and w-w-went up there as well," Quirrell said nervously.

"I approached the third floor immediately after the warning and again once the troll was dealt with," Severus continued. "I could find no sign of a breach, but Hagrid's dog made it impossible to search thoroughly."

"Hey, now, Fluffy was jus' doin' his job," Hagrid protested.

"How is your leg, Severus," Minerva asked.

"I will be fine," Severus growled. He glared back and forth between Quirrell and Hagrid. "Let us just hope that we have no more similar incidents in the future."

"Are you sure it's even the best idea to keep that thing here in the first place?" Septima asked.

The Headmaster nodded firmly. "As I have said, it is vital that we keep the Stone secure. You know that I would not allow it to be kept within the walls of Hogwarts if the students could not be kept safe, and if it would not be even more dangerous to the wizarding world to keep it elsewhere. Unless I can convince Nicolas and Perenelle to dispose of it, it must stay here."

A majority of the staff grumbled at that, but they knew the stakes just as well as he did. And the protections were sound. Everyone involved agreed that no one person besides Dumbledore himself could get through them. Certainly, Septima was sure no one could get through her part. They would conclude that they had to accept the arrangement, just as they had when he had first proposed it.

"Now, then, to the repair work. Argus, what is your assessment of the damage?" Albus asked.

Argus Filch looked even more disgruntled than usual today. He wasn't exactly the type for dealing with catastrophes like this, and not only because he was a squib, but as Caretaker, it _was_ technically his job to organise repairs to the castle when it was damaged. "There's about nothing left in there," he wheezed angrily. "It'll take you lot all weekend just to clear out the debris. _I_ don't have the tools for that. We'll have to knock out parts of the walls and rebuild them if we want to do it right, reinstall all the fixtures from scratch. Why'd you have to go and make such a mess of things, Quirrell?"

"M-m-my apologies…"

"Thank you, Argus," Albus replied. "I myself will oversee the repairs. The ancient magic within the walls of Hogwarts is a rather tricky medium to work in. Once the walls are repaired, it should be simple to install new plumbing fixtures. We should be able to reopen the bathroom in a very few weeks."

* * *

Hermione was correct that they were to brew the Dizziness Draught in Potions class. Dean had no objection to working with Harry, so she helped Ron muddle through. It was a little trying on her patience, especially as Ron had not got into the habit of keeping his workspace clean, but she did it, and they produced a draught that she thought would be worth an E grade.

Surprisingly, Professor Snape didn't say anything about their new partner arrangement. In fact, the class was unusually pleasant today. Not because of Snape's temperament—indeed, he was a good deal more acerbic than normal—but because he never once rose from his desk, and that meant he couldn't wander the room making his usual caustic comments to the Gryffindors and gratuitous compliments to Draco Malfoy.

"Seems kind of suspicious, don't you think?" Harry said at lunch.

"What do you mean?" Hermione was sitting with Harry and Ron for the second meal that day, something her other friends had noticed well after how Ron had treated her yesterday, but aside from being interrogated by Parvati and Lavender at breakfast—among the many people who wanted to hear what it was like facing a troll (she mostly let the boys answer that) none of them had said anything about it.

"Why Snape didn't leave his desk." Harry said. "He missed plenty of chances to insult us."

"Maybe he felt like being nicer for a change—"

"Yeah, right!" Ron guffawed.

"—or maybe he's tired from cleaning up after last night. I doubt he meant anything by it."

Harry looked sceptical, but he didn't say anything more.

"Why, hello, Hermione," a voice sounded in stereo behind her. She looked up and braced herself for whatever the Weasley Twins had cooked up today. But they were looking friendly at the moment. And wait, she was Hermione to them, now? She supposed that was nice of them.

"We hope you're feeling better today." She was pretty sure it was George who said it. Fred, on her other side, was idly picking over the food on the table.

"Much better, thank you."

"All made up with your little friends, now?" Fred said in a babyish tone.

"Cool it, Fred," said Ron.

"That _was_ pretty brave of you running in there like that, Ron," George said. "Mum'd be proud…except she's gonna kill you first." Ron's ears turned red enough to match his hair.

"Well, I'm doing alright, now," Hermione assured them. "I was really just being too hard on myself. I…I think you were kind of right. I did need to lighten up a bit."

"Oh, we're so glad to hear that," George said with a mischievous grin. "Because hanging around with Percy was bad enough. Hanging around with two of our brothers—that's double trouble."

She rolled her eyes. "I think I'll take my chances."

"Brave words, Hermione. We'll see if you can live up to them." The Twins walked away, chuckling.

"Are they _always_ like that?" she asked.

"Yeah," Ron said, "but don't worry. They'd never hurt their friends—just annoy them."

Ron lifted the cover on one of the dishes in front of him. The moment he did, a swarm of large gypsy moths flew out and started fluttering densely around all three of their heads. Hermione screwed up her face and did her best to swat them away.

"FRED!" Ron roared, jumping out of his seat.

Down the table, Fred and George high-fived.

* * *

"So, yeah, I know Ron was being a git, but he figured that out on his own pretty quickly. And I only really let it get to me because he'd hit so close to the truth."

After lunch and classes were over for the day, the other Gryffindor girls had all but picked Hermione up and carried her back to the Common Room, insisting on getting the full story out of her without any more delay. Now that she had accepted it for herself, or had started to, Hermione managed to get through the story with only a few tears—in fact, between them, the girls around her were showing more tears than she was. And they were all very impressed—more than she thought she deserved—at how she had devised a plan to knock out the troll on the spot. (There were sure to be all sorts of crazy rumours about it by Monday.)

Lavender and Parvati sat on either side of her, each wrapping an arm around her as she related the trials of the past few weeks. It was an eye-opening experience for a lot of the girls that she had been suffering so much so silently, and several of them started commiserating about their own hidden problems by the end of it.

"Oh Morgana, Hermione, how could you go through so much like that without flunking out or something?" Lavender said. "I never could have made it going through what you have."

"That's just how I was raised," Hermione said softly. "My parents made sure that no matter what happened, I would never let it interfere with my schoolwork…and they helped me a lot along the way when I needed it. I just kept doing what I've always done."

"It just sounds so awful," Parvati said. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

Hermione smiled slightly. "Well, honestly, I think if you could just remind me of when to go to bed, it would be a big help."

"Of course," Parvati and Lavender said at once. Hermione wasn't sure she liked how eagerly they accepted the job.

"Thanks, girls," she said, once again feeling much better than she expected.

True to their word, her roommates made sure she got up to bed at a reasonable hour that night, and, thankfully, they weren't too pushy about it. She laid down to sleep feeling as every bit as good as she had the night before, and to her surprise and great relief, she managed to stay asleep until it was time to head down to breakfast. Her resultant good mood was enough to carry her through the whole day.

Hermione had already come up with a response to Fred and George by dinnertime last night, but it took her until morning to work up the nerve to use it. As everyone was getting ready to go to breakfast, she spotted them in the Common Room. Surprisingly, they weren't dressed alike today. Dressed in casual clothes for the weekend, one of them was wearing a red shirt, and the other was wearing a blue one.

"Hi there, Fred and George," she said with a smile.

"Good morning," they replied amiably.

"Listen, you asked me to tell you if I learnt anything new about the castle."

"That we did," George replied.

"How touching that you remembered," added Fred.

"Did you find out what's above the Great Hall?"

"No, not yet, but there was something else that I should have told you a while ago."

The Twins were all ears.

"Have you two ever been to the top of the Grand Staircase?"

They glanced at each other. "Why, no," George said. "Did you see something interesting up there?"

"I saw a lot of interesting things when I explored the Great Tower a few weeks ago," she said precisely.

"Such as?" Fred asked.

"Well…it's hard to explain. You really have to see it to believe it."

They grinned at each other. "Very interesting. We'll have to check that out after breakfast."

"Thanks for the tip," George said.

"Sure, no problem," she replied innocently.

Hermione indulged herself in an mischievous smile after the pair left the Common Room. That had been too easy and entirely too much fun.

With her plan set in motion, she went down to the Great Hall for breakfast with a spring in her step, then came back up to the Common Room and curled up on one of the sofas with her Calculus book. She laughed out loud when she remembered that the next lesson was about limits at infinity.

She was still getting funny looks from people when she did this. Most people, muggle and magical alike, balked at seeing those kinds of equations. But for Hermione Granger, this was her idea of a relaxing morning. She was at it for a little while when she heard someone call her name. Harry and Ron had come down to the Common Room, bringing some of their course books, which surprised her for a Saturday morning.

"What are you working on?" Harry asked.

"Calculus."

"What's that?" Ron said.

"My maths independent study. Arithmancy's nice, but the maths is way too easy."

Ron looked over her shoulder at the unfamiliar symbols on the page with a disbelieving look, but he held his tongue. It had taken him only a few minutes to learn not to question Hermione about her attitude towards maths. "So you really can do crazy maths stuff in your head?" he finally said as he sat down.

"Well, I wouldn't call it crazy."

"Right, but, like, you can figure out what's a hundred and ninety five times seven forty-eight?"

"A hundred and forty-five thousand…eight hundred and sixty," she said casually.

"Bloody hell! I thought Fred and George were joking when they said you could do that," Ron said while Harry's eyebrows disappeared under his messy fringe.

Hermione shot Ron a dirty look for his language, but she answered, "No, it's not that hard if you want to learn it, but this stuff is completely different." She indicated her book.

"What is it, then?" Ron asked.

"Well, this in particular is limits at infinity. It's like…" She tried to think of how to explain limits to someone who didn't even know algebra yet. "Say you have a bunch of numbers, and they're one half, one third, one fourth, one fifth, and so on. What number would you get if they kept going on forever?"

Ron looked perplexed, but Harry tentatively said, "I guess zero."

"Right. It's like that, but…a lot fancier."

Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

"What are you working on, then?" she asked them.

Harry sighed. "Transfiguration. I don't know how I'm gonna get all this stuff done with all the extra Quidditch practises Wood's scheduled. Do you…do you think you could give us a hand."

Hermione closed her book. "Sure—as long as you don't expect me to do it for you. Let me see…"

With her help, both boys got through quite a bit of their Transfiguration homework that morning. They barely noticed her frequent glances toward the Common Room door. But her vigilance paid off when, nearly at lunchtime, two dishevelled and disturbed redheads ran into the Common Room. Both of them were wearing shirts that were half red and half blue, divided along a randomly zigzagging edge.

"Hermione Granger!" they yelled as stumbled over and knelt on either side of her chair.

"Whoa, what happened to you?" Ron said.

"We were in the—"

"—Grand Staircase and—"

"—way, _way_ above the top—"

"—and there were—"

Both of them were out of breath and incoherent, and Harry and Ron were baffled, but Hermione just smiled smugly and said, "So, how high did you get?" to her friends' amazement.

"Big, _huge_ moths—" Fred held his hands a couple of feet apart.

"Crawling everywhere!" George added.

"We got swarmed."

"We tried to repel them with our wands."

"The magic didn't like that."

"Our shirts…"

"Wow. That sounds like it's about as high as I got. It's a good thing I didn't try to cast any spells."

"Wait, _you _did this to them?" Ron exclaimed.

"I only suggested that they try to explore the Grand Staircase," Hermione said, still smiling.

"You told us to climb to the top," Fred complained.

"No, I believe I only asked if you'd been."

Fred and George stared at each other again, wondering how they'd been had so easily, while Harry and Ron were staring at Hermione in utter confusion.

"I'm pretty sure the Grand Staircase just goes on forever," she explained. "But it all has to fit in the tower, so it keeps getting smaller, and the bugs and mice and stuff look huge when you get high enough. And there's so much magic that it mixes everything up, like their shirts."

"And you knew all along! Did you put those moths up there, too?" George demanded.

"No, of course not. _I'm _not going back up there. That was just luck."

"I told you, brother," Fred said. "Merlin help us if Hermione starts using those brains of hers for pranking. Now, we're all in trouble." Hermione giggled slightly.

"Indeed," George replied.

"You are a worthy opponent, Miss Granger," they said in unison, tipping imaginary hats. They stood and backed up the boys' staircase, as if not wanting to take their eyes off her.

"Wicked, you actually managed to prank Fred and George?" Ron said. "Oh, I've gotta write Ginny about this. I didn't think you'd be one to break the rules, though."

"Well, plenty of other people do," she groused. "Besides, I don't think that was _technically_ against the rules…just not advised."

"Well, it's nice to see you have a Gryffindor side after all. You know they're going to try and get you back, though, right?"

"Yes," she sighed, "but at least they know I'm not an easy target, now. That should keep me a little safer." They started to pack up their things for lunch. "Oh, by the way, Harry, I still have _Quidditch Through the Ages_ on loan from the library. Do you want to read it?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

Hermione wanted to try exploring the Great Hall again, but with Harry's Quidditch practice and reading the book plus Ron being behind on homework, they didn't have all that much time. They went around the Great Hall once after lunch trying everything that looked like it might be a door, but plenty of doors in the castle were too well hidden for that. Afterwards, they told her she could keep going without them, but she didn't feel like it. She needed to finish her own homework—and address something that had been a growing concern in the back of her mind for the past two days.

What was she going to tell her parents?

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I want to start off by telling you that I'm fine, and even though some really bad things have been happening, they're over now, and I got through them alright. I hardly even know where to start, but I suppose I should get the worst out of the way first. On Halloween, a mountain troll got into the castle and attacked me…_

And then they would be too hysterical the read the rest. Hermione crumpled up the parchment, threw it in the bin, and started again.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I'm sorry I've been so distant, lately. The truth is that I'd got myself into a bad habit of not getting enough sleep, which I'm just starting to get out of. Honestly, things are quite a bit better here than I think I've let on…_

And that was a blatant lie. There was no reasonable way she could objectively say that except that she just felt that way. Try again.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I think things are finally looking up here at Hogwarts…_

This was ridiculous. Was she really going to keep it from them? Why should she? But why shouldn't she? They'd have her out of Hogwarts before she could say "_Wingardium Leviosa_" if they knew the truth.

But she just couldn't take the secrecy anymore. They deserved to know, didn't they. She would just tell them she was old enough to make her own decisions…even if they involved extremely dangerous creatures…it was hopeless, wasn't it?

_Dear Mum and Dad…_

Hermione threw her quill down in disgust and slumped back in her seat. On a whim, she pulled out her wand and decided to try out a new charm she'd read about in the library: "_Lacarnum Inflamari._"

A little blue flame shot out from the tip of her wand and landed on the parchment. It spread, and the parchment began to smolder. It felt rather satisfying to see the attempted letter go up in flames. From what she had read, the Bluebell Flame Charm was supposed to consume very flammable things like parchment and cloth, but it didn't actually need fuel, and it was supposed to be cool enough to handle if one was careful. She reached out tentatively and brought her hand up to the flames. The fire felt like hot water as it licked her fingers, maybe uncomfortably hot, but not scalding. She laughed and scooped the flames into a spare jar from her potions kit before they started to scorch her wooden nightstand. The flames in the jar would make a nice little portable lamp and heater.

Anyway, there was no way she was going to figure this out on her own. Maybe her new friends (or her old ones) could help.

* * *

"Tell your parents? Are you mental?" Ron Weasley yelled. "They won't understand. My Mum completely freaked out when Percy told her, and she's a witch. They'll withdraw you, and the Ministry'll snap your wand and erase your memory!" Harry looked positively horrified at the suggestion.

"Ron, they don't do that to people who withdraw," Hermione corrected. "They'd only make me transfer to another school, like Beauxbatons." Harry sighed with relief.

"But you can't want to leave Hogwarts, can you?" Ron said.

"Of course not! But I can't keep keeping secrets from my parents. I need to be able to talk to them honestly."

"Well, I don't know. You can try if you want, but I'm telling you, no good'll come of it."

Hermione sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of. Harry, are you going to tell your relatives?"

"No, they'd probably just be mad that I didn't die on them."

"Harry…"

"It's fine, really. I'm sorry, I really wouldn't know what to do either."

"Well, thanks anyway…I think I need to think about it some more."

* * *

The other students all had similar responses, either rejecting the idea of telling her parents about the troll out of hand, or not really being able to come to an opinion. Her fellow muggle-born, Sally-Anne, was among the latter group and was one of several who suggested that she ask a teacher for advice.

More than one person had suggested that she go to Professor McGonagall, but Hermione was reluctant to do so. She still didn't consider her head of house to be the most supportive teacher, though her house-mates had few problems with her. And more to the point, she was a little worried about the consequences of any stories other than the glossed-over version she'd told reaching the ears of the Deputy Headmistress.

It took her longer than it ought to have, well into Sunday afternoon, before she remembered that there was one adult in the castle who did know the full story, or more of it than the others, anyway. Of course, it was Sunday, and no one held office hours on Sunday (if she deluded herself into thinking she'd get the letter done today at all), so Hermione screwed up her Gryffindor courage and took a different tack.

Few students besides the Weasley Twins ever thought about where the teachers slept at night. Professor Trelawney, of course, stayed cooped up in her tower, and Professor Dumbledore's apartment was known to be above his office. Married staff often commuted, at least on the weekends, but most of the teachers weren't married. They were never really seen going in and out of their residences, as they usually stayed out until curfew themselves. It was only by paying careful attention while she was mapping the school that she figured out that the staff apartments were located in the Great Tower and the body of the West Wing.

Her main clue had been the cluster of unusually notable portraits in that area. Her attention was first drawn there by a portrait that she was amazed that she could recognise as John Flamsteed, the first Astronomer Royal, who had been appointed before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted. The rest she could only identify as notable thanks to her overzealous reading habits. The Irish Druidess Cliodna, a known animagus and one of the greatest transfiguration mistresses of the medieval period appeared on one stretch of the corridor. Charms mistress Hedwig of Vienna graced the corridor nearby. On the floor below was the preeminent Renaissance potioneer, Zygmunt Budge.

But what had really tipped her off was when she studied John Flamsteed's portrait for so long that he asked her what she wanted and informed her for no apparent reason that Professor Sinistra was in her office. From that, it all became clear soon enough. Each portrait was a leading historical figure in his or her field, and each guarded the door to a professor's apartment, just like the Fat Lady guarded Gryffindor Tower. Once she looked up all the portraits, it was easy to piece together who lived where. (She had decided not to tell Fred and George that little tidbit, although it wouldn't surprise her if they already knew it.)

And so it was that Hermione followed her map to the portrait of Bridget Wenlock, the founder of modern arithmancy.

Bridget Wenlock wore purple and had wild black hair and half-moon glasses. She didn't particularly look like she came from the thirteenth century. Unfortunately, she rather sounded like it. Even more unfortunately, Bridget Wenlock was known for both paranoia and absent-mindedness.

"Excuse me, Madam Wenlock?" Hermione said tentatively.

"_Forsoath! Tawht purpoase hast tho, cheeld?_" the portrait said, or at least that's what Hermione thought she said.

"Um, I was just wondering if Professor Vector was in," she replied, doing her best to interpret the Middle English.

"_And ho mah thot bay?_"

"Professor Vector? The Arithmancy Professor?"

"_Arithmahnsay!_" the portrait shouted. "_Eek am thay Arithmahnsay Professor haireh! Has this Vector stolen me thayores_?"

"What? No!"

"_Eek will not have hit!_"

"Madam Wenlock, you're a painting," Hermione pleaded. "You haven't been the Arithmancy Professor for seven hundred years. I was hoping I could speak with Professor Vector. This is her apartment, isn't it? I…I could come to her office tomorrow is she's not in."

"_Stoadents areh not toe bay given occess—_" Wenlock started, but then the portrait frame swung open, and Professor Vector was standing in the doorway, smiling.

"Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise," she said.

"Hello, Professor," Hermione said nervously. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."

"Of course, of course. Please come in."

Vector led her into a small parlour with a tea table and a couple of chairs and a desk in the corner. The room was furnished in the same general style as the Gryffindor Common Room, but with green accents. A kitchenette was visible through one door and a short hallway extended from one side of the room. Hermione decided it was a fairly nice apartment for one.

"Have a seat." Vector said, indicating the chairs. "And don't worry about Bridget. She gave me that for a year after I started teaching here. I take it you figured out the clues from the portraits?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm not surprised, with someone like you. Would you like some tea?"

"Um…sure, thank you, ma'am."

The professor produced two cups of tea and sat down across the table from Hermione. The first-year sipped thoughtfully.

"I was hoping you would come to see me, Miss Granger," Vector said. She was being about the friendliest Hermione had ever seen her. "I could tell you've been under a lot of stress lately, even before Thursday. All of your teachers say that your course work remains exemplary—even Professor Snape, when one corrects for his usual bias—but there is more to life. I wouldn't want to see you burned out so early. If there is any way that I can help, you need only ask."

"Th-thank you, Professor…It's…it's complicated. You see, I'm afraid I've let myself get into some very bad habits…" She gave a brief summary of the disaster that the past few weeks had been as Vector listened with concern. "I am doing better now," she assured her. "I probably need some time to really get back on my feet, but I'm feeling a lot better getting a full night's sleep, and I'm working faster, too." Vector smiled a little. "But what I really wanted to talk to you about is…well, I usually right my parents every Sunday night."

"Ohh…" Vector said with an understanding nod.

"I just don't know what to tell them!" The words came spilling out. "I've been keeping so many things from them. I don't like keeping secrets, and they deserve to know what's happening. I'm tired of not being able to talk to them. But I'm so afraid that if I tell them what happened, they pull me out and transfer me to Beauxbatons or something, and I don't want to leave Hogwarts, even with the bad stuff that's been going on. I really like it here, and I like my friends, and all my classmates say I shouldn't tell them, and they'd be so scared with me being away from them, and—"

"Miss Granger…" Vector cut her off. "Hermione…" She gave her a sad smile and lightly patted her hands. "I know this can't be an easy decision for you, but ultimately it is one that you'll have to make for yourself. You're the one who knows your parents best."

"I just don't know know what to do," Hermione whined with tears staining her cheeks.

"Well, I'm glad you feel comfortable coming to me for advice, but I'm afraid I don't have much experience with this kind of situation. We only get about one muggle-born in Slytherin every five years or so, and about half of them wind up transferring at some point. I think you've already seen the unfortunate prejudice shared by most of my former house. And I've certainly never seen anyone attacked by a troll before—I promise you anything like that is quite a rare occurrence at Hogwarts. But I have seen difficult situations along similar lines, so I'll tell you what I have seen, and you can hopefully decide for yourself.

"Muggle-born students almost invariably wind up living in the magical world," Vector explained. "After all, even after the short time you've been here, can you ever imagine going back to the life you had before? Their friends are all magical, and they usually marry magicals, because of the Statute of Secrecy, and unless they work very hard, like you are, they rarely have the educational credentials to get a good job in the muggle world. Meanwhile, your parents are still living in the muggle world, they have limited access to the magical one, and you're not allowed to do any magic at home.

"Now, it can be hard enough to relate to one another across that gap under normal circumstances…But I'm sure you know by now that about ten years ago, there was a very bloody civil war in the magical world while things were perfectly fine in the muggle one. It was very dangerous for everyone back then, but especially for muggle-borns. You friend Harry Potter's mother was a muggle-born—and one of my best students, too. Dirk Cresswell, the year after her, he was another one. They came from homes where you'd hear about the occasional murder or assault somewhere, but it was a one-in-a-million chance. But at school, every month they'd hear about more and more attacks on muggle-borns. They started getting in fights with rising Death Eaters in Slytherin—I suspected some of them were _marked_ Death Eaters. When they graduated, Lily Potter, at least, actively fought against them.

"Growing up in that world, they had an even more serious decision to make than you have, and to my knowledge, neither of them ever told their families—never told them how much danger they were in. Whether they didn't want their parents to worry, or they didn't want to create a rift in their families over it, or they wanted to stand and fight for justice, or some combination of the three, I don't know. Whatever their reasons, they kept it up—they never told them…but it hurt them deeply. They hid it, of course, but you learn to recognise it as a teacher—you could see in their eyes how much it tore them up inside. Living through that does things to a person…and as far as I know, they both became completely estranged from their families, stopped contacting them altogether. Now, I'm not saying that will happen to you. Your situation is different, and your parents are different. I just thought you should know how I've seen things go before."

Hermione was doing her level best not to start sobbing over the table. She would have been mortified to be seen like this around a teacher in public, but here in her parlour, it wasn't so bad. She was so grateful for Professor Vector being so frank with her, no matter how painful her words.

"Professor, I…" she squeaked. "I have to tell them. I can't let that happen—I can't…"

"I understand, Hermione. If you like, you can tell me when you send your letter, and I can send one of my own to help explain the situation. If you are concerned about their reaction, a professional view might help."

"That's…that's very generous of you, ma'am, thank you."

"My pleasure. I'm glad I could help."

Hermione finished her tea and slowly composed herself, but her mind was already racing thinking about what needed to go into her letter. It was fast looking like it would wind up being longer than most of her homework essays. She was certain she wouldn't be able to send it tonight, and she could only hope her parents wouldn't be too worried about that. Finally, she felt ready to get up to leave.

"Thank you again, Professor," she said.

"No trouble at all, Hermione. Please come see me anytime if you need help."

Hermione nodded and stood up, but then she remembered something.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"There was one other thing I was wondering about. How _did_ you stop that troll so easily?"

Professor Vector smiled. "That? It was actually quite simple. The Freezing Charm is a simple second-year Defence charm. I just put a lot of power into it—although even then, if you hadn't knocked it out, it only would have held long enough to get you out."

"Really? That's all it was?"

"Yes. A crude method, I admit, but trolls aren't very bright, so it's all you need. There is a time, even in combat, to be really clever. This is especially true if you have less power than your opponent, as you yourself learnt. But there is also a time when something fast and simple is best. The power you need to cast a Freezing Charm that strong will come with age and practice."

Hermione wondered at how such a simple spell could have such amazing results, but she was glad to hear it wouldn't be too hard to learn down the road. She left the apartment and started back toward Gryffindor Tower.

Professor Vector sighed as she left. That girl really was one of a kind, more than even she herself knew.

Hermione wanted to get started on her letter right away, but she knew there was one more thing she needed to do first, uncomfortable though it was. She found her new friend in the Common Room and sat next to him.

"Harry…can I ask you something?" Hermione said nervously.

"Sure."

"It's…it's okay if you don't want to answer."

Now Harry looked a little confused. "What is it?"

"Harry, did your aunt know—know what was going on with your parents? The war and everything?"

Harry stopped and thought. It was something that hadn't really occurred to him. Aunt Petunia had said his parents had got "blown up", but from what he'd heard, that wasn't exactly true. He had to wonder how much she really knew, the way she talked about her sister. It might even be something worth the risk to ask her next summer.

"I don't think so," he said. "I know she didn't know about my dad's money, or she would have taken it. And she never talked about any of it except when Hagrid came. She knew my parents had been killed, but I don't think she ever really knew there was a war on."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Professor Vector—you could talk to her if you wanted—she said your mum was one of her students. But she didn't think she ever told her parents about the war, and eventually she just stopped talking to them."

"Well," Harry said slowly, "my aunt thought she was a 'freak' from the beginning, so…"

"She did? Why would she do that to her own sister?"

"I don't know. I guess some people are just like that. Kinda like Malfoy."

Harry didn't have any more to say after that. Hermione pondered his words as she climbed up to her dorm room. She started writing. But it was going to take a while.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Integral JK Rowling dt = 11 books, 8 movies, and a whole lot of money, none of it mine.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

"You _actually_ managed to prank Fred and George Weasley?" Alicia Spinnet said. The Arithmancy study group was laughing as loudly as Madam Pince would let them get away with as Hermione recounted the story.

"Uh huh. It worked even better than I expected," she said happily. "It was pure luck that they got swarmed by gypsy moths up there."

"Hermione, I take back everything I said about mapping the castle being a silly idea," Roger said. "That is awesome."

"I know," Alicia added. "Most of us have been dreaming of pulling one over on them for the past two years."

"I bet a lot of the teachers have been thinking it, too, even if they won't admit it," Roger added.

Hermione smirked at that. She _was_ reasonably sure Professor McGonagall secretly wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine, but that wouldn't fit her stern teacher image. "Thanks. I just thought I needed to assert myself a little more. Now they know I can get them back."

"Well, it's good to have our Hermione back," Roger said. "We, uh, might not have shown it that well, but we were all starting to worry about you, even before…you know, Halloween. You seemed pretty out of it last week."

That certainly surprised Hermione. Roger had always seemed like the most distant of the three of them. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt, too. She still felt like most of her problems were self-inflicted, but she tried to force the feeling down.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't think to look for you. I guess I got distracted with the feast and all." said Cedric. Alicia and Roger quickly registered their agreement. "I would've thought the prefects would have kept track of everyone," he added.

Alicia let out a low whistle. "They should've. Percy Weasley got a real hiding from McGonagall for not noticing that three of his first years were missing."

Hermione remembered that. It was the first time she'd heard Professor McGonagall shouting. Percy had been depressed all weekend and had since become so uptight that even she thought he was annoying.

"Is it true that you beat the troll with a Levitation Charm?" Cedric asked.

"Well, sort of. It took all three of us to lift its club and drop it, and I don't know if it would have worked if Professor Vector hadn't frozen it."

"Okay, that makes more sense," said Roger. "Some people were trying to say that you started swinging its club back at it."

Hermione and Alicia both rolled their eyes. Hermione supposed she should consider herself lucky that the rumours had only gone that far.

"How did you come up with the idea to use combined Levitation Charms, though?" Cedric asked. "People rarely do anything like that."

"It wasn't that hard," she insisted. "I just saw that one spell partially deflected it, so I thought three might be able to lift it."

"Well, we're all glad you got out of there," Alicia said. "We wouldn't want to see you get hurt, especially with the rough time you've been having."

"Thanks." Hermione smiled meekly.

"Anyway, we'd better get to work," she continued, looking down at their exercises on proportions. "I don't think I'll be able to make it on Wednesday. Wood's scheduled a bunch of extra practises."

"I know. Harry's getting really nervous about the match," Hermione said. "He's already under a lot of pressure with the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing and being the youngest player this century. And I guess it doesn't help that he's especially important being a Seeker in the Hogwarts league."

"What do you mean?" asked Alicia.

"Well, since the Seeker almost always wins the game, having the Snitch only really makes sense in a tournament context where there are a lot of games and the actual scores matter. But in the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, each House only plays three games per year, which makes the whole thing extremely Seeker-dominated."

The others stared at her, open mouthed.

"What, isn't that obvious?"

Cedric cleared his throat. "Um, sorry, Hermione, it's just that we didn't think you even liked Quidditch, and for a minute there, you sounded like a sports writer or something."

"Well, honestly, I don't that much," she admitted sheepishly. "I don't think it's very well balanced, and I don't enjoy flying all that much. But most of my friends love it, including you, and it's not hard to figure the numbers, so I might as well have fun with it."

"It's nice of you to get into it, then," Cedric said. "I guess I've always thought it _was_ a little silly that we play so few games here. When you only play each house once, you never really get a chance to develop a strategy. We could easily play each house twice like in the professional league without disrupting classes."

"Yeah, that would be nice," Roger said wistfully. "My grandpa says they used to do that in the old days."

"Maybe you should start a petition," Hermione suggested.

The others all chuckled at that. "Yeah, maybe we should," Roger replied. "So can you use maths to figure out who's gonna to win on Saturday? And don't worry about offending Alicia."

"Hey!"

"Well, that's difficult with three new starting players on the Gryffindor team," Hermione said as she thought over the numbers. "Based on last year's statistics—percentage of Chaser shots made and so forth—I'd say Gryffindor has a slight advantage on the Chaser side, but, of course, the wild card will be Harry. I've only seen him fly the one time, but if he's as good as everyone says, I think I give Gryffindor a seventy-five percent chance of winning."

"Well, I guess it's up to us to make sure it's a hundred percent," Alicia quipped.

"Wow," Cedric said. "Hermione, have you ever considered a career as a Quidditch analyst."

"Not really," she said flatly. "I'd rather do something that has more advanced maths in it."

"Yeah, I hate to admit it, but your brains would be wasted on that," Alicia said. "I'm sure you're gonna be inventing spells that aren't supposed to be possible someday."

Hermione smiled nervously. That seemed like an awful lot of pressure, even if they were just joking around. "Well, I try," she finally said, trying to lighten up a bit as they really got to work. She had to admit she was still a little distracted, though, for other reasons, for as they worked, she found her thoughts wandering back to the letter she was writing to her parents, which now stood at four pages and counting. It was hard work, and she was sure she still wouldn't be able to finish tonight, but she would get there eventually.

* * *

Daniel and Emma Granger had been a little concerned when no owl arrived Monday with a letter from their daughter, especially after last week's distressed note. Still, she might just have been revising for an exam or something.

When Monday stretched into Tuesday, and Tuesday stretched into Wednesday, they became more concerned. They wanted to say perhaps Hermione had just missed a week, but it was hard to say it, knowing how hard a time she was having.

Finally, on Thursday morning, they got a shock when not one, but two owls showed up at their kitchen window. One was carrying a small letter in an official Hogwarts envelope and addressed in emerald-green ink, but Emma set that one aside for a moment because she was more interested in the second letter, addressed with "Mum and Dad" in their daughter's neat handwriting.

But this was by far the fattest envelope Hermione had sent them, and when Emma opened in on the kitchen table, pages and pages of parchment spilt out, obviously written over several days and at least as many moods. Some of them were her written in her usual tidy script, while others were roughly scribbled and tear-stained and everywhere in between.

"Oh my," she exclaimed.

"Whoa, what happened?" Dan asked.

"I don't know. This is either a really good sign or a really bad sign." She organised the pages to find the top one, and started to read with growing apprehension:

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I'm sorry I didn't get this letter to you on time. This is going to be really hard for me to write, and I know it's going to be hard for you to read, too. You're going to want to sit down for this and maybe make an extra-strong cup of tea._

_I was really afraid to tell you all this stuff because I know how you'll react. I was going to just hide it and pretend it didn't happen. I really wanted to, but Professor Vector told me how she'd seen muggle-borns keep things from their families back in the war and grow apart from them and lose all contact with them, and how much it hurt them, and I don't want that. I don't think I could bear it without you there to support me. So please, just hear me out. I know it's going to sound bad, but it turned out better than I ever could have hoped. It turns out I was all wrong about Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Actually, I was all wrong about a lot of things. You know, they say when times get rough, you learn who your real friends are, but even I'm surprised that I've got so many._

_Sorry, I know I'm rambling. It's just so hard to think in a straight line right now. So, anyway, what happened was…_

Dan and Emma held each other close and took turns reading each time one of their voices gave out as they saw their daughter's trials and tribulations unfold over the next ten pages. It was clear that she hadn't told them half of what was going on, and they could understand why, as it got darker and darker. If the length of this letter was any indication, though, she wasn't holding back anymore.

She told them about how she was being bullied and called racial slurs by that pureblood Malfoy. How the Weasley Twins messed around and caused her trouble and generally made her nervous. How creepy the Divination teacher was. How she was feeling like she couldn't relate to her classmates. About how she had withdrawn into herself and made things that much worse for herself. How she couldn't sleep, couldn't focus, and felt like everything was slowly crumbling out from under her. And finally how Ron's words on Halloween had been her breaking point, and she spent the entire day crying in the bathroom.

All of that was bad enough, but that was just the opening act before her letter took a turn to the plot of a horror film. Dan and Emma staggered out to the living room and collapsed on the sofa together as they read the news that their daughter had very nearly died that day.

More than that: she told them in graphic detail just what a mountain troll looked like (and smelled like), followed by a blow-by-blow account of being cornered by it in the bathroom, being saved by Harry and Ron, whom she hadn't been getting along with at all, and by Professor Vector, whom she made sound like some kind of mythical warrior, and a little clever spellwork on her own part, and, finally, being mobbed by all the worried friends she had been ignoring when she got back to safety.

And then, just as an afterthought, she mentioned that the school was keeping a giant three-headed dog on the third floor to guard something, but she didn't think that was such a big deal anymore.

…_Look, I know that right now, you're going to be __completely__ freaking out and probably looking for the literature from Beauxbatons to transfer me right away, but please don't. I've only just now realised how many friends I have and how much I love it here, ridiculous non-Euclidean geometry and stupid pureblood politics and all, and I don't want to go. After everything that happened, I think all I really needed was to get more sleep and lighten up a bit and quit being so hard on myself about everything._

_Even Harry and Ron are a lot better than I thought now that I've really talked to them. Ron apologised on his own for what he said, and he even tried to turn down the points for saving me. He's still kind of a git, but he usually comes around before too long. And Harry—well, I'm not quite sure what's going on with Harry. It sounds like he's had a rough time at home, but he usually gets along with the other Gryffindors pretty well._

_Hogwarts really isn't that dangerous, either. All the professors have been saying dangerous creatures almost never get into the castle, and no student has died here since 1943, and I did the math, and that's probably better than most muggle schools—I wrote it out on the back. It's not like an evil psychopath sneaks in and tries to kill somebody every year or something._

_I'm sorry for scaring you like this, but I was really worried about what to say to you, and after I talked to Professor Vector, I just had to get it all down. I hope you can understand how I'm feeling. I really do want to stay here, so please give Hogwarts another chance._

_Love from Hermione_

They turned the last page of the letter over to see that, sure enough, Hermione had used her limited actuarial knowledge and some algebra to try to prove that living in Hogwarts was safer than living in the muggle world. Dan and Emma gave a pair of tight smiles to see that a near-death experience hadn't blunted their little numberphile's wits.

"I can't…I can't believe…" Emma whispered tearily.

"It's a lot to take in," Dan said, shaking his head. "I'm almost not sure whether to be more worried about her being…attacked by a…by a troll—or her reaction to being attacked by a troll."

"Well, it's good she's made so many friends—it's amazing, really, but…" Emma shook her own head frantically. What was she saying? Her daughter had nearly been killed, and she started liking the place more? She'd gone mad! The whole world had gone mad!

"Emma, where's the other letter?"

She closed her eyes and remembered. "Still in the kitchen. You think it's related?"

"Why wouldn't it be? I'll go get it." He squeezed her shoulders gently and slowly lifted himself off the sofa.

Returning a moment later with the official-looking envelope, he opened it and began to read:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger,_

_I would like to let you know that I have every reason to believe that everything your daughter wrote in her letter is true and more or less complete. I wanted to inform you of what I know of the situation._

_On Halloween night, a mountain troll from the colony that lives to the north of the grounds got into the passages under the school from the ravine due to a mistake on the part of the Defence Professor, Quirinus Quirrell. Professor Quirrell discovered his mistake and alerted the school during the Halloween Feast. I knew that Hermione had missed class that day, and I did not see her at the feast, so I immediately found out where she was from her roommates and went to find her. I believe her classmates, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, did save Hermione from the troll, if ineptly. When I arrived at the scene, I got all three of them out of harm's way as quickly as possible. (While first-years would not be able to handle one, it is relatively simple to stop a troll long enough to escape it.)_

_I want to assure you that your daughter is safe and whole, and in as good of spirits as can be expected under these circumstances. Indeed, I had noticed her growing self-isolation myself in recent weeks, and the outpouring of concern and support she has received from her classmates has lifted her spirits greatly._

_I also want to assure you that these events are definitely __not__ usual for Hogwarts. There has only been one other occasion in which a troll has got into the castle in my twenty years of teaching, and other dangerous creatures are very rarely sighted. In the past fifty years, there has been only one fatal attack at Hogwarts, a tragic incident in which a student was killed by an acromantula—a creature which has since been carefully confined to the forbidden forest. This rate of attacks is, in fact, slightly better than at other schools because there are fewer large, dangerous magical creatures in Britain than on the Continent. We are also reviewing our safety procedures to prevent another such incident from occurring._

_As such, I strongly urge you to respect Hermione's wishes to remain at Hogwarts, as I can honestly say I believe she will be happiest staying here. She has been very worried about your reaction to her ordeal. However, I advised her of the difficulty that muggle-born students have in staying connected with their families, and she expressed a strong resolve to keep close to you and to be fully honest with you in response. I have seen the damage done to families of muggle-borns who chose to hide the danger of the war from their parents a decade ago. Because the divide between the magical and muggle worlds is so deep, it is a tempting choice to make, and for Hermione to be so open with you about this shows and incredible degree of trust on her part. Keeping a family together across that divide is not easy, but I believe she has shown a commitment to doing that, and that she would do so is a great credit to you as her parents._

_And on a personal note, I would be very sorry to see Hermione leave. Your daughter is easily the most intelligent student in her year and the most intelligent I have ever had the pleasure to meet in the field of arithmancy. She is a joy to have in class and has been a great help to the other members of her study group. With training, I believe she has the potential to make advances in the theory of magic that we can't even imagine yet, and I hope that you will continue to give her the opportunity to do that at Hogwarts._

_Sincerely,_

_Septima Vector_

_Professor of Arithmancy_

Dan and Emma sat on the sofa in silence, wondering how the second letter had managed to completely floor them again.

"She's really something, isn't she," Dan whispered. "She practically has the whole thing worked out."

"She's growing up, Dan," Emma sighed. "She's starting to make her own decisions now."

"I know. It's just—it was always going to be hard. It's a lot harder with this mess. I wish we could've had a few more years with her around."

"She still needs us, you know," Emma said as she tried in vain to wipe away her tears. "She's trusting us to support her. She's wanting so much to be able to rely on us—We can't pull her out now. We couldn't do that to her after all she's been through. We're so lucky she wants to keep us close."

"We certainly are, Dear. And…I guess Hogwarts doesn't sound that dangerous normally. And she already worked out the maths for us, so we know it's right," Dan said with a slight grin.

Emma grinned back. "No stopping her, is there?"

"She wouldn't be our Hermione otherwise."

"Mmm…"

They sat there in each other's arms on the sofa for a while as they started to come to terms with what was happening. "We'll have to reply before too long," Emma said after a while. "She'll need closure with this—_I_ need closure with this…We just need to figure out what to say."

Dan helped her rise to her feet and planted a soft kiss on her lips. "Well, we'd better get started, then."

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

…_Wow, this is hard, isn't it. We hardly know what to say after your last letter. It was probably the most terrifying thing we've ever read in our lives—and saddening and disturbing and confusing and somehow wonderful all at the same time. We couldn't have imagined anything like a troll attack happening in a school, or even some of the other things you mentioned. You know, you never really told us about all of your friends at school, and it sounds like you didn't really see things clearly yourself until now. We can't say how proud we are that you're fitting it so well at Hogwarts, even though we wish you could have realised it under less dangerous circumstances._

_Professor Vector sent us a letter explaining things. She understandably made the whole incident sound a lot more cut-and-dried than you did. When we read your version of the story, it was like seeing a side of magic that we'd never seen before. Be sure to thank her for us for saving you. We don't know if she told you what she wrote, but she speaks very highly of you. She obviously has a lot of respect for you not just as a student, but as a person, and we can tell that she will be a good mentor for you in school and beyond._

_It disturbed us a little to see you getting so much more enthusiastic about Hogwarts after what happened. And you were right, our first instinct was to get you out of there—that's just one of the rules of being a parent. But thinking it over, we realised that you were right about the rest, too: it was just a freak accident, and there's really nothing especially dangerous about Hogwarts. Professor Vector also confirmed this and explained what the school is doing to make sure it doesn't happen again._

_To be honest, though, now that we have a better handle on your safety, we're a more concerned with your emotional well-being. You've gone off into these little episodes before, but never like this. It hurts to see how difficult things have got for you, and it worries us not having you here where we can help you out or comfort you or bug you about your homework—and yes, we know you always get it done. It's really good to see that your friends and at least Professor Vector are supporting you. That was a good idea asking them to help you stay on track and remember to sleep. Still, we were getting worried about how detached your letters sounded, and now we have a whole new set of things to worry about._

_Now, we know you said things are getting better, but these kinds of things take time to recover from. Please go to your friends and teachers for help before you let things get that bad again, and don't take on too much right away. Take it easy and relax when you can. You know we're going to worry about you even more now until we're sure you're back on your feet. We wish we could could keep you closer to us at home. After all this, we're hardly going to be able to wait to see you at Christmas._

_As much as it pains us, though, we know that we need to let you start being your own person and make your own decisions. We know it must have been hard for you to trust us enough to tell us all of this, and if you can do that, then we can trust you to make a rational decision about where you'll go to school. It's wonderful to see you growing into such a strong, thoughtful, and brilliant young woman, and we know you'll find the right path for yourself as long as you surround yourself with people who truly care about you. Just keep trying your best, try not to let things get to you, and be sure to get enough sleep. We'll see you at Christmas._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

Harry wore an obvious look of concern as Hermione set down her letter, and he saw her tear-stricken face.

"Hey, Hermione, is something wrong?" he asked tentatively.

"No," she squeaked, smiling wistfully. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."


End file.
